


A Deer Among Wolves

by Kristin4ev



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Daggers, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, elf inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-04-17 11:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 90,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristin4ev/pseuds/Kristin4ev
Summary: Athenna Lavellan never saw herself as much of a leader. When fate rears its ugly head, however, she is thrown into a place filled to the brim with shems calling her the Herald of Andraste. She has no choice now but to step up and save the world. She learns she is not alone when she gains the friendships of an unlikely group of heroes and a charming commander.This story is a novelization of DAI with a strong focus on the Cullen/Lavellan relationship.Some plot changes, scenes moved/replaced with original writing. I tried to stray from word by word DAI and put my own little twist on it. Please enjoy!





	1. A Thousand Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. The Line- Battles  
> 2\. Radioactive- Imagine Dragons (iTunes Session)  
> 3\. Polarize- Twenty-One Pilots  
> 4\. Elastic Heart- Nicole Cross (Cover)

There were so many eyes. All on her.  _Creators_. Why did it have to be her? Athenna Lavellan stood frozen outside her cabin. Two guards on either side of her pressed their fists to their chests when she exited. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Usually when guards were reaching out of attention, she would also be grabbing at her daggers as she’d been caught. Her hands went straight for her weapons, but they were nowhere to be found. She was, however, outnumbered anyway.

The crowd was in hushed whispers around her, they were waiting for her to do something, say something, anything. The worst part: they were all  _shems_. Despite the way she was raised, amongst her Dalish clan and their peaceful nature with the humans, she couldn't help the disgust crawling in the back of her throat. Humans and Elves were not enemies but most certainly were far from friends. There has never been an elf, that she’s heard of anyway, that had ever been…worshipped the way she has been the past minute or so.

The crowd formed a path. To the Chantry. As the woman, Cassandra, requested. She drew her gaze down and commanded her feet to move. Hesitantly, she placed one foot in front of the other, moving slowly at first, expecting someone to take her in chains again. The guards only moved behind her. They were…protecting her flank? She was used to blending in with her background, sticking to the shadows, being invisible to the naked eye. Someone was shining a giant spotlight on her unsuspecting form and it made her want to shrink down into nothing.

“That’s her! The Herald of Andraste!” she heard one of the bystanders exclaim.  _The Herald of Who now?_  Athenna’s inner panic screamed.  _Andraste_ is a  _shem_  goddess and they were claiming that she was what? Her compatriot? The elf could have thrown herself on the ground and laughed at the utter ridiculousness of that sentiment if it weren’t for the fact she already wanted to puke from the unwanted attention.

The ground crunched underneath her feet until she was climbing the stairs of the small town. Someone else called out, “that’s her! She stopped the breach from getting any bigger!” The breach? Her mind flashed with images she failed to banish; the furious green tear in the heavens; the pride demon trouncing her new-found comrades; the tremendous agony she faced when she lifted her fingers to close it. Athenna looked down at her left hand, a soft white scar was stitched into her palm; the tool she used to stop the breach. Her eyes flowed to the sky and she nearly tripped over the next set of steps. The breach was still there, angry as ever but seemingly calm. She put a stopper on the pressure to keep more demons from falling out but how long would that truly last?

The crowd thinned at the entrance of the chantry. She looked to their faces for the first time since leaving her cabin and her throat was hollow; they were…. hopeful? Angry? A mixture of both perhaps? She took a shuttering breath and opened the heavy doors of the chantry, which was surprisingly empty. There were muffles towards the end of the hallway; an argument. She recognized Cassandra’s tenor immediately. She was…defending Athenna’s actions at the breach? Protecting her from the Chancellor and his demands she is chained. What universe could she have possibly landed in? She remained outside the door, mouth wide open, listening to the conversation. Eventually, there was silence and that seemed to be her cue. Athenna took a deep pause before she threw the door open to her destiny.

* * *

“Let’s get you out of that armor, shall we?” The smith, Harritt, began wrapping a tape measure around her waist and legs. “I have just the scout coat, give me a moment,” the older man began rifling through a couple of drawers inside his forge. She still felt pinpricks against her back, more eyes. She turned her gaze swiftly; nearby onlookers ceased their gawking. She huffed,  _this is going to take some getting used to_. “Here you are, and I also have something for you when you come back,” he presented her with a pile of clothes, belts were hanging loosely on the top. Harritt guided her to his cabin to give her some privacy. She began stripping when the door closed, shivering as the crisp air scraped her bare skin.

How could she say no to be the Herald? What choice did she have?  _Creators, how many belts does this thing have?_  Let the world die because the shems won’t stop making googly eyes? She was better than that and she was certainly raised to accept a challenge. She just could not understand the whole sentiment;  _why_  and  _how_  and  _where_  did she get this blasted mark?  _Oh, that’s tight but…comfortable?_  Every time she tried combing through her memories of that day; leaving her clan, sneaking into the conclave, sticking to her shadows, and then…and then…nothing. It was painful, like someone was shoving dirt into her eyes.  _So many damned scarfs too_.

She tied a large grey sash around her waist _. Perfect place to hide my bag of tricks_ , her lips quirked up in a mischievous angle. The armor was made for a rogue and she had never been so blessed with one such as this. She looked in the mirror in the rear of the room and was stunned by the creature staring back. Her light purple eyes were wide, curious. Her blonde hair was crowned at the top of her scalp in a tight ponytail, a few strands hugged her cheeks. The armor gave her an advantage, it wrapped around her curves perfectly, creating a beautiful predator. The grey coat was large, drifting to her thighs but somehow, she felt…powerful, important, confident. Well, if she was going to be the center of attention, she might as well be easy on the eyes.

The elf strut into the forge and found Harritt again rummaging through another box. With success, he passed her two dark metallic daggers. The metal shined a tint of red with accentuating grips. The blades were slightly curved, making any slice even deadlier. Her breath caught, they were magnificent, far out of the realm of daggers she used before. “I can’t…” she was nearly soundless, “I can’t accept these…” she finished. Despite her words, her fingers ached to give them a try.

“Please, Herald, you don’t know what you’re facing out there. You need the best equipment,” the smith stated, pressing the weapons into her hands. She felt like a child playing with fire; it was out of her knowledge. Still, she held the grips on both, letting herself fall into her natural rhythm, spinning them into their place on her back; a perfect fit.

The smith smirked at her and bowed his head slightly, “thank you,” she said earnestly.

“My pleasure, my lady Herald,” he nodded. She went to stop him from calling her that but remembered the advice of Cassandra and Leliana, to let them believe she was the Herald, let it boost their spirits. She bit her tongue and exited the forge.

“Herald,” one of the Inquisition soldiers saluted her before stepping into her space, “your presence is being requested at the front of the chantry,” he informed.

“Of course,” she nodded and allowed the guard to escort her through the numerous crowds. Once again, Athenna kept her eyes to the ground. Several gasps and murmurs misted through her and she wanted to puke again as well.

“Watch your step, my lady,” the man took her elbow. She nearly flinched if not for the gentle touch. She was used to the Inquisition guards not taking too kindly to her. The transition from prisoner to Herald was not a soft one. She muttered a thank you to the soldier who saluted her once more. She was aware of the eyes on her, so she touched her fist firmly to her heart. The man retreated at her gesture. Now her eyes lifted from the ground to find three people standing behind her; Leliana had her arms folded, guarded expression, she nodded a greeting to the Herald, a woman with dark skin and exquisite features in a gold ruffled gown, smiled kindly as another greeting, and the man next to her wore heavy armor, dawning a fur cloak. He regarded her softly. She turned back to the crowd, fingers laced tightly behind her back. She let her eyes close, inhaling deeply before opening them to the audience.

Their stares were less harsh or perhaps she was prepared for their piercing gazes this time. She almost missed the angry sneers she received from shems she encountered with her clan. She never thought she’d miss Clan Lavellan has much as she did now. Footsteps approached, and she found Cassandra, smirking ever so slightly, joining her side. They had not talked since she agreed to form the Inquisition.

Athenna’s heart beat wildly in her chest, her feet were begging to take flight. Instead, she furrowed her eyebrows, tightened her grip behind her back, and planted her feet apart, burying herself into the Earth. This place, this…Haven, was her home from now on, she could no longer be alien. Not when she had a world to save.

She heard something unwrapping from behind and above. She stiffened, and Cassandra began speaking about the formation of the Inquisition and its purpose to close the breach. As she preached, the bystanders still looked to Athenna and now she mustered up the greatest look of confidence she could give, showing them, she is committed, and she will lead them and help in whatever way she could.

“Your Herald of Andraste, may I formally introduce, Athenna Lavellan!” She gestured to the elf and her heart jumped in her throat. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and the bones in her knuckles ached from the clenching. She said nothing and thanked creators that Cassandra didn’t make her speak. As Cassandra finished her speech, she patted Athenna on the back, pushing her towards the chantry.

* * *

She reached out for one of the markers and retracted it.  _No, that wouldn’t be right…_  Athenna shook of the discomfort, trying for the marker but once again pulling back. She huffed frustrated,  _would they agree to this_? The process repeated until a lower baritone told her, “the pieces are indeed moveable, Herald.” She looked up to see the only man standing in the room, Commander Cullen, smiling at her kindheartedly.

“R-right,” she stuttered. She had to admit, he was handsome for a shem anyway. A light scar was drawn from his upper lip which bent to the will of his smile. His blonde hair was pulled back to near perfection, and his eyes were a soft glow of gold. She forced her eyes back to the map, covering a spot on the Ferelden side, right next to the Hinterlands, a supply run. Before she ran into Harritt, she conversed with a few of the smiths and they needed more metals as more recruits were flowing in from all edges of Thedas.

The War Council, as her advisors called it, lasted for hours. Her back ached from leaning against the large ornate table. Multiple pieces were placed onto the map and her advisors had their assignments. It was a little surprising how well they all fell into the rhythm of working together despite the occasional spats on dictating which assignments went to whom; they all had vastly different methods. Her ambassador would keel over before allowing someone to die for information; she always suggested the diplomatic approaches. Her spymaster, who Athenna found liked her methods the most, was one to get in and get out with no one the wiser, take down anyone who was in the way. Lastly her commander was one who would go in arrows blazing, march on, and gather allies by showcasing strength. The whole lot of them made her head spin.

Once the meeting was adjourned, it was decided that Athenna would leave for the Hinterlands with Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, within a week. “Oh, thank the creators,” Athenna lifted herself from her hunched stance and took her exit two steps at a time.

“Herald! A word?” an accented voice called out; Josephine.  _So close_ , she moaned internally. She turned with a halfhearted smile.

“How can I help you, Ambassador?”

“Please, just Josephine to you,” the woman waved her off. The only one in the group to greet her in the elven language, Athenna felt herself relax in her ambassador’s presence. She seemed to be the least intimidating of the lot.

“Then, you may call me Athenna,” she replied softly.

“As you wish,” Josephine gestured the elf into her office. “Have you been mistreated, my lady?” she asked once the door was closed.

“Come again?” Athenna asked, surprised.

“Since you have been here, have you been mistreated? For being an elf?” Her eyes were patient, long eyelashes shadowing her concern.

“I’m treated as well as any elf amongst sh-humans,” she caught herself from the slang so easily spoken amongst her people.

The ambassador sighed, “I shall speak with the staff at once. If we are going to convince the world that the Herald of Andraste is an elf, we need the Inquisition’s full support,” she paced.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” Athenna held her hands up in the defense. Josephine stopped in her tracks, furrowing her eyebrows. The elf shrunk away from the scrutiny. Despite this, she smiled.

“You are the one fixing the trouble, we are friends here, Athenna,” she expressed honestly.

 _Friends…with shems…still strange_ , “It’s going to take me a while to adjust to this…all of it” Athenna wringed her gloves together. There was a long silence between the two, the Herald avoiding the gaze of her comrade. Josephine’s slow footsteps brought her gaze up. She touched the Herald’s shoulder, a comforting gesture.

“Take all the time you need,” she responded gently.

“…Ma Serannas,” Athenna shook her head, “I mean thank you,” she hastily corrected her tongue to common. Josephine smiled simply and turned from her. That was Athenna’s cue to leave and she couldn’t be happier.

* * *

The Hinterlands were a paradise compared to the harshness of Haven. Athenna felt herself soften a little more everyday she was there. The trees, the quietness, the sounds of the forest inhabitants brought her back to traveling with her clan, hunting those who threatened them. As she talked to Corporal Vale and the other refugees, she found herself drawn to her environment, taking in the ambience of those who fled from Ferelden’s war on mages and templars.

The refugees were frail, scared, and alone. She watched fatherless children clinging to their mothers, partner less spouses sit in solitude, dark expressions in their eyes. Everyone there lost someone. She made it a priority to help them before doing anything else. Once she promised her help to Vale, she turned to see Cassandra eyeing her, approving. Athenna’s cheeks flared as they proceeded to complete the tasks requested by the refugees; hunting the rams, finding the apostate caches, and clearing the roads of the bandits, rebel mages, and templars.

During the fighting, she let loose, allowing her old habits to kick in, falling in behind and attacking from the flank. She became a predator then, stalking her unknowing prey with the help of her new companions as they kept the full attention of the enemy. She’d let out a battle cry before jumping on them from behind, slitting their throats in the process.  _Like butter_ , she thought grimly. They would thrash at her attacks, but it was futile as she stubbornly remained attached, breaking bones in the process. While she was small, she was flexible and strong, something many underestimated her for. As the last enemy fell, she twisted her knives back into their place, she heard the dwarf, Varric, chuckling.

“What?” Athenna asked, catching her breath.

“You…” he let out an amused huff, “You are just a spider monkey, aren’t you?”

“A…spider monkey?” she cocked up an eyebrow.

“You just love to jump and climb all over them like they’re a tree or something.”

“Is that a problem?” she spoke more sharply than intended. Varric did not seem taken back by her defense however.

“Not at all, it’s quite entertaining actually and it also keeps them off our flank. So, if the shoe fits, my dear Herald,” he let his hand wonder off, finishing the sentence.

“well then…. thank you, I suppose,” her lips tipped up in an amused smile.

“You’re very welcome, Spider Monkey.” Varric bestowed upon her one of his famous nicknames. The familiarity and comradery from the conversation made Athenna’s steps a little lighter.

* * *

Cullen hunched over the war tables, scribbled with markers. He exhaled loudly looking between those and his reports. So much work to be done in so little time. More reports came in everyday from the Herald as she was helping in the Hinterlands. Her most recent venture was to Master Dennett at his request. She was now reporting that he only needed watch towers to be built on his ranch to protect from unwanted guests. With those orders already sent, the Inquisition would be on its way to having their own horses.

He found her other report he had already read, informing all the advisors of her assistance with the refugees. The crossroads would be in better shape because of her. And here he had been doubting her efforts to begin with. Surviving the conclave explosion, being accused of said explosion, and lastly being worshipped for the mark that very well may have caused the explosion was a lot to take in in the span of two days. He saw it in her eyes when he first met her, trudging up the stairs of the chantry. She was small…smaller than he’d thought she would be, even for an elf. He neglected to see her when she was being kept as a prisoner. He didn’t wanted to admit it, but part of him was bitter to her for what happened. He lost a lot of friends and soldiers that day.

But when he saw her turn her back and plant her feet; the gesture screaming her commitment, he felt guilt. She did not want to be there anymore than anyone else it seemed. She accepted her fate for what it was and got to work. He admired her for that.

The sound of the doors to the war room opening jolted him from his revere. Josephine was holding a candle.

“Commander? You’re still awake?” she asked.

“You know what they say, ambassador,” he smiled weakly at her, “no rest for the wicked,” and to that she rolled her eyes.

“Headaches?” she probed, “have you tried the droughts I left?”

“Yes, but it only dulls the senses,” he absently rubbed his temple, where the pain was the strongest.

“I see…forgive me, I was only trying to help,” she murmured.

“There is nothing to forgive. I appreciate the effort,” Cullen turned his attention back to the stack of reports, if he got started on them tonight, he would be ready for the new stack that would inevitably end up on his desk in the morn. Josephine stood stubbornly in the doorway, and he sighed. “I will try to sleep within the hour” she raised an eyebrow, “I promise.”

The answer seemed sufficient, “Good night, Cullen,” she nodded before closing the door behind her. He knew Cassandra and Josephine meant well when trying to help with his withdrawal and lack of sleep, but he’d been trying everyway he could. The only thing that kept him from tossing and turning in bed was just to not sleep. It wasn’t healthy, and he only got a few hours every night. He can’t remember that last time he wasn’t woken from his nightmares either.

His eyes rested on the same marker the Herald very hesitantly placed next to the Hinterlands. He nearly laughed at her attempts to grab it. She was so nervous. It seemed she had never been in a position of leadership in her entire life. It’s as if she was waiting for permission to place it, despite being told repeatedly of the power her opinion held. The look of shock on her face when he told her she could move the piece was priceless. Wide violet eyes, a deer in the presence of a lion. With hesitance she finally placed it and order a supply run. He happily obliged her, relieved they could get through the awkwardness of the interaction.

The night drew later, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. The work he was doing now would do more harm than good. With a reluctant sigh, he rose from the chair and walked to the door. He looked to the marker once more and smiled gently.  _Hopefully your rest is more successful than mine, Herald_ , he thought to the map and exited the war room.

* * *

The rift sieged into her fingers; the burning sensation was just incredible. Incredible in a  _creators please just chop it off_  way. With a ripple and loud  _crack_ , the rift closed, leaving the demons in the fade. She yelped, holding her wrist, waiting for the heat to reside. A pale hand held hers and there was immediate coolness. Athenna looked up to see Solas, eyes on her mark, concentrating. The coolness alleviated the pain. They stood like that for a few moments before he released her.

“Ma Serannas, Lethallin,” she muttered.

“You’re very welcome, Lethallan” he responded.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” She knew the answer well but still hoped.

“Once you can spit fireballs, sure,” Solas replied, amused. She didn’t think her elf counterpart could joke but he remained expressionless. Athenna looted the bodies, trapping their essences in the spare bottles of her pack. Minaeve would be interested in them, hopefully giving her most insight on how to close the rifts without Athenna feeling like her hand may burst into flames.

“Alright, let’s move out, back to Haven,” she couldn’t believe how relieved she sounded. While the Hinterlands were fun and familiar, the constant fighting was putting wear and tear on her muscles. She also had her duties to return to there. The letters she received from her advisors only gave her so much information on what was going on.

Being out in the field helped Athenna realized that the Inquisition was so much more than a way to stop the breach, it was a symbol, a beacon of hope for a crushed world. She only hoped she could help more in her journeys with her new friends…Friends? She looked ahead to Varric who was chatting away with Solas, Cassandra grunting in response. She found herself smiling, her eyes were getting misty. She took a deep breath, getting a hold of herself. For the first time since she entered Haven, she didn’t feel so lonely. While she was a sole beacon to her following, it was not without help. The weight of her burdens was being carried by her squad and advisors.

* * *

The next time she entered the gates of Haven, she would be of a renewed set of confidence to her people. She watched a figure, a recruit? Shouting to his comrades as the Herald strode in on horseback with her friends. Some of the inquisition soldiers were behind her, tugging a cart of valuables and supplies. She watched the rest of Haven bustle in their daily tasks. The loud clanks of metal from the forge and the charging of swords from her army reached Athenna even from across the lake.

“The Herald has returned!” she heard the recruit shout. The citizens of Haven gathered excitedly and for the first time, Athenna waved, her cheeks spreading in a grin, looking to their faces. She spotted Leliana and Josephine at the top of the steps by the stables observing. Josephine returned the wave and Leliana just smiled a bit. Athenna spied Cullen walking through his recruits, eyes scanning their performances, stopping to correct postures at times. At the yells from the villagers, he looked up and saw her as well. He passed off a report to what looked to be his lieutenant and loped off to her.

“Herald,” he greeted her, walking alongside her steed.

“Commander,” she responded politely.

Leliana and Josephine joined them as well to the stables. “I hope the journey was kind to you, my lady?” the ambassador asked. 

“Quite. Thank you, Josephine,” she jumped from her horse, offering it to a nearby horsemaster. She regretted not convincing Dennett to come, he knows his horses best. She could not argue with his need to stay with his family however. A luxury she could not afford.

“When you get the chance, I just have some requests for you to comb through,” she turned towards the chantry.

“ _Joy,_ ” Athenna huffed under her breath.

Leliana glided forward, settling a letter into her hand, “From your clan, your worship,” she declared in a low voice. Athenna immediately clutched the parchment, unrolling it, reading through it quickly.

Her eyes caught the end of the letter,

_“It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will._

_We await your reply,_

_Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan”_

“Keeper,” she whispered, holding the paper to her chest. Her clan did not forget her, now they worried for her safety. She missed them so and only wanted to ride off and see them now. She sighed at the uncertainty of her future with them.

“We’ll take any response as you see fit, Herald,” Leliana notified.

“Thank you, Leliana, that’ll be all,” she quickly dismissed the spymaster. She nodded and flowed to her tent. Athenna sucked in a breath before tucking the letter into her jacket.

“Everything alright, Herald?” Cullen’s voice next to her made her jump.

“Oh yes, I am fine. Long journey, that’s all,” she replied weakly.

“I see you convinced Dennett,” he continued.

“Yes, we’ll have the rest by the end of the month,” she turned back and grinned, relieved for the change of subject. “We also have some refugees coming in, I believe quite a few expressed interests in joining our forces. You’ll have your work cut out for you, Commander,” she rolled on her heels, feeling tiny next to him.

“I look forward to it,” his eyes gazed over to the clanging of swords, “I must say…” he trailed off and shook his head.

“Hmm?” Athenna hummed.

“I...misjudged you, Herald,” he hesitated, turning his gold eyes back on her, “I thought you wouldn’t be up to task…and I was wrong. I apologize,” his words tumbled out of his mouth, and she could have sworn there was a twinge of pink in his cheeks.

She was silent for a moment. Her doubters were in almost too short of a supply, but she wasn’t sure how to feel with her own advisor being uncertain. She bit her lip, crunching her eyebrows at the thought, “because I’m an elf?” she asked quietly.

“What?” His eyes went wide, taken back, “What made you think that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my kind and yours aren’t exactly…friendly. We are easily underestimated,” she muttered, trying to keep the venom from seeping out of her voice.

“ _Maker,_  no of course not!” he exclaimed, “It’s just that-…Andraste preserve me…” he struggled to find words. For a man who was so confident barking at his recruits, he certainly had a hard time speaking quietly with her, “You seemed…unsure of yourself that first day. But as the meeting went on, I could tell you were earnest about helping,” the words slipped out again, “then your reports of success came in and I felt…rather foolish that I doubted you in the first place,” he avoided her gaze. He absently rubbed the back of his neck.

“Huh…” she let the breath out she’d been holding. She wasn’t expecting that response, but she was more transparent than she thought.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Herald,” he apology quietly.

“Athenna.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name. Call me Athenna,” she looked to him, smiling softly.

He stared at her for a few moments. She felt tiny again being scrutinized but his gaze softened, “Very well then, Athenna. Then you may call me Cullen,” he responded.

“Cullen,” she nodded. Cullen remained stoic, bid her farewell, and loped back to his troops. 

“Spider Monkey! Wicked Grace later? Drinks on me?” Varric was coming down the stairs by the giant double doors. He edged her with his elbow.

She found herself staring after him longer than necessary, “I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied.

"Great, its good to be home,” he was already retreating from her.

“Yes…home” she muttered, no way he could have heard. He was right though. She was left at the stables by herself. She minded her surroundings; her grin shrank into a meaningful smile. A few more passersby greeted her, and she nodded greetings back. “Yes, its good to be home,” she whispered to only the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh it has begun. I said I wouldn't do this but I did. Idk how long it will be between updates but I shall do my best. I hope you all enjoy it and follow along! Kudos/Feedback are always appreciated!


	2. Dance of the Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist  
> 1\. Ain’t no rest for the wicked- Cage the Elephant  
> 2\. Renegades- X Ambassadors  
> 3\. Be OK- Ingrid Michaelson  
> 4\. Blood in the Cut- K.Flay  
> 5\. Eyes Open- Taylor Swift

Athenna could happily say she’d never had the honor of fighting pants less men before that night in Val Royeaux. She knew with the Inquisition, she’d probably see a lot of things she never thought she would but then again, it liked to surprise her. An arrow, the second of the day, shot just past her ear and to the ground. Athenna glanced from the bottom of the stairs to see a man readying his arrow. She knew just how to deal with archers; cloak, attack from behind, grip the wrists, knee in the back, push, and- the Orlesian screamed in agony as Athenna broke his arms, ceasing his arrows. She twisted out her dagger and slit his throat; a quick death.

Footsteps came up quickly behind her, and she twisted into a backflip before the other rogue could attack her flank. They clashed their daggers together, spying for each other’s weak spots. Just when she found his opening, she gasped when his blade dug into her side. Athenna yelped at the sudden pain, striking him in the abdomen. He gasped, blood splattering onto her. Now she twisted her dagger inside his stomach before kicking him down, keeping her blade.

A warrior let out a battle cry, coming at her from her right and she rolled her eyes, rookie mistake. Blades still in hand, she threw one straight into the man’s eye. And down he went with her weapon.

“Oy, you alright there? Painting any pretty pictures?” her new found elven companion called from down the stairs of the alley.

“Aye, only have them in red though,” Athenna replied dryly, retrieving her dagger. She sloshed through the blood to get down the stairs.

“My favorite color!” Sera quipped, “Good thing my friends came through on that tip though, no breeches!” she snorted and looted a few of the bodies. “Herald of Andraste, eh? You’re a strange one…” now she grinned, “I’d like to join.”

“Perhaps we could discuss that after an introduction? You know, names and such?”

Instead of one name, she gave her many. The Friends of Red Jenny, a group that gives tips, stands up for the little people, sticking it to the nobles where it hurt. A regular band of misfits. She finally introduced herself as Sera. Athenna contemplated whether she wanted that type of group in the Inquisition. Of course, she had just hired the chargers along with Iron Bull, and their price was steep and their motive…a little unknown besides the payment. Could she really afford to be picky when it came to more help in the Inquisition? Especially when her intentions appeared genuine; just wanting the world to go back to the way it was. Simple and to the point, and they may get the Inquisition some contribution in the end.

“Alright, Sera, you and your ‘friends’ can join,” Athenna announced.

“Yes! Getting good before you’re too big to like! That’ll keep your breeches where they should,” the elf exclaimed. She immediately got down to business, rushing off with a pile of pants to Haven. What a weird night.

As she watched Sera skip away, a searing pain brought her back to the present. She forgotten she had been stabbed. Athenna hissed through her teeth when she opened her jacket to find red in her grey sash.

“Are you okay, Boss?” Iron Bull came up behind her, supporting her from her hunch.

“Got nicked,” Athenna grunted, “Could need stitches, let’s get back to Haven,” she rummaged through her pack and found some elfroot. She began munching on the leaves, hoping the pain could subside enough for the journey. The elf tied her sash around her waist tightly and exited the alley.

* * *

The trip to Haven took a few days and while Athenna could clean the wound, even create makeshift stitches, she knew she needed to see a proper healer. It was only her second time returning to Haven and while it was less chaotic than the first, people still rushed to her side. Athenna straightened but winced at the pain in her side; these people saw her as an indestructible shem demi goddess, she had to keep up her facades for morale sake. She thanked creators for the fact she was riding a horse and didn’t need to limp the whole way.

She greeted those who saw her, nodding as she rode to her cabin. Josephine was coming down the steps when she saw Athenna.

“Your ladyship, glad to see you safe,” the ambassador greeted.

“Good Afternoon, Josephine, can you do me a favor and send for Adan?” Athenna gingerly removed herself from her horse.

“Is everything alright-” she stopped her words when she saw the brown and red stains on her sash, “Oh my goodness, right away!” She stopped a servant and sent them running to their healer. Josephine was at her side, arm around her waist, guiding her into bed. In hopes of distracting Athenna, Josephine began going over a list of diplomats set to arrive within the next week to Haven. The Herald nodded along, shrugging out of her jacket. “How did this happen?” she stopped suddenly.

“Rogue found my flank open, you’d think I’d be better at this,” Athenna grumbled.

“Nobody is perfect, my lady,” she replied.

Before Athenna could respond with _‘I need to be perfect because all these people keep staring at my glowy hand’_ , “What in the maker’s name have you done now?” Adan grumbled, walking through her door. He folded his arms at her and raised an eyebrow; the look of a parent ready to scold. 

“Just a scratch,” She uttered meekly.

He marched over and pulled her shirt and sash, “Bullshit, Herald,” he seethed at the wound which had festered with dried blood and yellow pus. “Who put in these stitches? A blind nug?”

“Hey, I did the best I could,” Athenna whined, offended by his criticism. He just cursed another time before unrolling her sash.

“I will take my leave until the war council then,” Josephine sat up.

“Oh, there’s not going to be a war council, I’m sentencing her to bedrest,” Adan shot back, beginning to snip at the makeshift stitches with scissors. Athenna yelped but Elfroot was shoved to her mouth, “shut up and chew on this,” he barked, not breaking eye contact with the wound.

“Adan, is this truly-”

“My lady, Ambassador, she must heal, and the wound is infected. The best thing she can do is take an early night, let the stitches, and my medicine do its job,” Adan called out to her, halting any attempt to change his mind. Athenna let out a muffled shriek, still eating the plant. The man had cut skin.

“Perhaps we could all visit here tonight,” Josephine spoke to Athenna now. The elf was not excited by the fact she was confined to her bed the rest of the night but if it meant she wouldn’t be limping tomorrow, she’d suffer through. At least she could wait for the war council in reluctant anticipation.

Adan took the old stitches out, cleaned her wounds. Athenna winced as the man carefully scrapped at the slash in her side with a wet towel. Quickly, he stitched her up with his own kit. Athenna did her best not to wince each time the needle and thread stirred in and out of her skin, using the elfroot as a bound as opposed to a healing agent. She’d been hurt before, but she doesn’t recall ever getting stitches. Usually the clan’s healers would fuse the skin magically without stitches. Of course, the shem world didn’t use those sorts of luxuries. However, the wound was deep and needed to be tended as such.

Adan took his leave once she was stitched up. He made it very clear that the more she moved, the better chances her stitches would burst. Part of her was ashamed at her own fighting style, she always made sure to leave no opening and she let herself get hurt. Who’s to say they won’t tackle more challenging opponents on the road? Seeing her expression before he left, the interim healer stopped at the door and turned to her, “I’m glad you are safe, my lady.”

Her heart warmed at the sentiment, “Thank you for patching me up, Adan.” The man simply nodded before exiting her cabin.

Athenna laid back in her bed, staring up at her ceiling. Not even any stars could keep her company while she waited for the next day to come. She shut her eyes for a moment, just to rest them. Of course, when there was a knock on the door she jolted from her sleep.

“Come in,” Athenna called out.

The door opened and Varric walked through with a bowl and a mug. “Hey, Spider Monkey, how’s it going?” he asked.

“You know how much I love being confined,” she sang weakly.

He chuckled, grabbing a tray and settling it over her legs, “I figured you would be having a blast in here,” settling what appeared to be stew and hot cider on the tray. “I didn’t think they fed you while Adan was in here.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken for I am chock full of elfroot,” Athenna muttered, patting around her stomach.

“Very nutritious but perhaps not as satisfying as dinner,” he gestured.

“I,” Athenna shook her head at the kindness, “Thank you. You didn’t have to,” but she was already dipping her spoon into the hot soup. The smell of beef and spices had her salivating. The stew burned but she swallowed it happily, dipping in for another taste.

“The least I could do, you deserve to be treated as a person now and then, _Herald_ ,” he raised his eyebrows.

“That’s why I keep my inner circle around,” she grinned, “so my head doesn’t get any bigger.”

“Nonsense, you should probably keep us from flying away though,” he joked.

“Right,” she quirked, digging into the soup. Varric stayed for a few more minutes until he bid her goodnight.

“Oh, and just something to keep you entertained for the night,” he rested a book on her bed. She turned it over; _Tales of the Champion_. She snorted.

“So, you’re taking advantage of my being bedridden to make me read your book,” she queried, waving the volume at him.

“Hey, you don’t have to read it, but its something to do,” he took the empty dishes and exiting her room. She sighed and flipped open the book to the first page, beginning to read through Varric’s journey with Hawke. It was interesting to say the least; Hawke was also a rogue just as she is. _Good man_ , she thought to herself.

She read through a couple chapters until there was another knock on her door, “enter,” she called out, turning a page. The door creaked open and heard the thump of heavy boots. “Herald,” Cullen’s soft voice brought her head up to him. He stood there, a stack of reports in his hand and a polite smile on his lips.

“Cullen?” Athenna twisted her gaze out the window, the sun was just about to set. “You’re early,” she brushed up an eyebrow.

“To be early is to be on time, my lady,” She rolled her eyes at his sentiments. A military man to the core, “Or I-… could come back in a few minutes?” He stuttered after seeing her expression.

Athenna snorted, “Nonsense, pull up a chair.” He hesitated before grabbing her desk chair and settling it at a comfortable distance from the bed. She studied him with patience as he began to shuffle through the different parchments. His irises caught hers and he paused before continuing.

“Are you well?” He asked absently, singling out one of the papers and reading it.

“We rogue are a pesky bunch, I left myself open without realizing. The Orlesians do it best, creators, its only going to get harder from-” his light chuckle stopped her in her tracks, “What?”

“I meant, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?” he tried not to gawk at her side. The wound was now bandaged up and covered by a white linen shirt.

“Oh,” she breathed, having not thought about the stab wound until he had said something. With Cullen, she always expected he would talk about strategy, how she could have avoided the injury. Now he stared at her, stopping in his shuffling, waiting for her answer. She winced when she adjusted her position, “only when I think about it,” she shrugged.

His mouth curved up, his scar tugging along with it, “Very good, Herald.”

“Athenna, Cullen, please call me Athenna,” she sighed.

“Sorry, it may take some getting used to,” he trailed his gaze to the book on her bed. He raised his eyebrow, turning it over to the title. He seemed to be holding back a sigh.

“Have you read it?” Athenna wondered.

He grew dark for a moment before settling into indifference, “No, but I was there,” he muttered.

“In Kirkwall?”

“Yes. I was the interim knight commander when Cassandra found me and recruited me into the Inquisition. It was then, I left to leave the Templars behind for a better cause. Now the situation has turned quite grim,” he stared towards the door, outside it, to the breach. Athenna wringed her hands, keeping them warm. She realized she didn’t know much about her commander.

“A giant hole in the sky never creates better matters,” she mumbled before peeking at her mark. She pushed her thumb into the scar and a ghostly burning sensation arose from it. In this trip alone, she had closed three rifts on the storm coast and two more in the hinterlands, each time more painful than the next.

“But it’s what we’re here for, why we’re needed,” he kept watching the door, “While the chantry argues over a new divine, the breach remains, the mages and templars fight like mad,” he was shaking his head at the thoughts, “The Inquisition isn’t meant for that; we can act, and our followers be part of it. There’s so much we could-” he turned back to her, seeing her polite expression. “Forgive me,” he turned kind, gold melting once more, “You’re bedridden and I’m beginning to lecture.”

She twisted her blankets in her fingers, ignoring the pain in both her mark and side. “I’ll take any distraction I can get. If you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

He granted her a laugh, “another time perhaps.” She found herself grinning at him, relishing in the sound; it was homey and soft. He wasn’t commander of the Inquisition forces right now, he was just Cullen. She never knew the shemlen could be kind or compassionate. But there he was, proof that stereotypes can dig deep into the impressions she had on her Inquisition, the people she should be trusting with her life. How silly she had been. He kept his stare on her, something different, she had never seen him use it since they met. Was she perhaps being too friendly? She felt herself blush at the thought. “I... ah…” he was struggling to find words. He seemed to be flustered and it only made her blush deepen. Three raps on her door made her flinch back. Had she been leaning? She blinked out of the stupor she’d been in.

“Um, come in,” she called out, demanding the heat to leave her cheeks. The last thing she needed was for people to assume things. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze danced from hers. 

“Athenna, good to see you- …Commander, you’re already here?” Josephine appeared surprised, her clipboard in hand. She looked between the two, raising an eyebrow. Athenna now just wanted to go outside and bury herself in the snow.

“Well I-” Cullen cleared his throat

“Of course, he is. Always so punctual,” Leliana strode in herself, own reports in hand, and a crow on her shoulder.

“Right,” Cullen ignored the teasing and studied his work. Wait, had he been blushing too? She peered up to see Leliana and Josephine both smiling, but it wasn’t polite. No. It was the same look her mother gave her when she caught her in a lie.

The Council continued as usual. There was a small map of Thedas Leliana brought and rolled out onto Athenna’s bed. They used ink to mark their places this time, and they would change it in the war room when they had the chance. Josephine took the chair at the edge of Athenna’s bed and Leliana used a couple of boxes to make a seat. From that, they worked, arguing and assigning as per usual, Athenna, of course, having to intervene any spats. Every so often, she snuck glances up at Cullen and, just like that, he was back to his usual self; hard and calculating.

“There are also passages in the frost backs that were left behind from the fifth blight,” Leliana’s voice brought Athenna out of her gawking, “I can easily send my agents in to scout for them.” She regarded Athenna with confidence.

“My soldiers could easily scout as well, while it’s been quiet, that’s always an invitation for an ambush,” Cullen perked up from his chair.

“With all due respect, Commander, I have more of an idea of where these passages are, and my agents search where others wouldn’t. It’s the best option.”

“So, you can have part of your network slaughtered-”

“-They can handle themselves-”

“Oh, Sylaise’s shiny bosom, would you both stop?” Athenna held her hands up, her tone was cold. Josephine stifled a laugh and disguised it as a cough. “Leliana, send your agents into the frost backs, see if they find anything,” the Spymaster nodded, a victorious smirk weaving through her lips. She turned, “Cullen, if Leliana’s people discover something, bring in your soldiers to investigate the passages further.” He nodded, jotting down notes on his parchment. Athenna took her own quill and marked them on the map a tad north of Haven. Athenna yawned as she was doing so. They had been in there for hours and, as usual, Athenna was starting to feel it in her back.

“Almost done, Herald. There is one more matter,” Josephine stated from her table. Athenna nodded her chin to continue, “The templar and mage situation. Your report says you spoke with a Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeaux? A meeting in Redcliffe for a possible alliance?” she quirked.

“Yes, I was planning on going,” Athenna confirmed.

“Ever consider it could be a trap, Herald?” Cullen quipped from her side. She knew if she decided to side with mages, she’d get an earful from him. To think they had been getting along a few hours before.

“At first….” Athenna trailed off, “But she was pretty genuine in her offer. Besides the Templars weren’t exactly warming up to the Inquisition in Val Royeaux,” she took a sip of her now cool cider.

“We shouldn’t discredit the Templars,” Josephine interluded.

“We’d need more influence in the region before we could get them on our side, but it is possible. Something you should keep in mind,” Cullen shot Athenna a glance. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. When it came to the talks of templars and mages, Cullen changed into a version of himself she didn’t like. Being a templar, he never fully trusted mages and bringing them into the Inquisition could muddy things with the templar recruits that had been brought in. The templars left little opening for a negotiation and should she really allow the same people who attacked her organization in Val Royeaux join the same organization they insulted? Athenna gnawed on her bottom lip, what a mess.

“That’ll be all,” she spoke in a small voice, “we leave for the Hinterlands within the next few days.”

Leliana was the first to get up, collecting her things, “Be well, Herald, we need you at your best,” she bid them farewell.

“I’ll go record this in the war room,” Cullen held his hand out for the map. Athenna rolled it up and handed it off to him, her fingers grazed with his gloves. She turned away to hide her embarrassment. “Herald,” he regarded her before collecting himself and exiting. His hard stare was surely still present. What a complicated man, that Cullen Rutherford. She sucked in a deep breath.

“Do not worry about our commander, my lady,” Josephine spoke quietly while she readied herself to exit too.

“You think I’m worried?” She observed the now empty seat.

Josephine let out a soft chuckle, “with all due respect, you are an open book. Cullen may not love the idea of the mages joining us, but he is loyal to a fault.” That look he had given her before Josephine walked in summoned her memories, it was soft, tender, and maybe a bit bashful. It made her heart leap in her chest. She shook her head at the fantasies, _get a hold of yourself, he’s a shem, Athenna, jeez._

“Very good, Josephine, that’ll be all,” Athenna cleared her throat, reaching for her book. The ambassador didn’t reply and exited quickly.

* * *

The following days passed by uneventfully. Athenna took it as easily as she could. Adan lied about her recovery the following morning. Her side ached and screamed every time she moved. She decided to postpone the journey to the Hinterlands another couple of days, so she could fully recover from her injury. She didn’t need to keep bursting her stitches while on the road. In the meantime, she spent time training with Leliana’s agents, working her left flank where she had been hurting, keeping extra attention when sparring.

She trained with the other recruits in front of the lake and found many watching her, scrutinizing her fighting. She hated the audience but knew she must endure as these were the fruits of becoming the Herald. She cut the trainings short at first, not wanting to risk her wound but as the days went on, her side stretched less and less until there was nothing. Adan came a few days later to take the stitches out, reminding her to keep careful on her flank. She rolled her eyes at him when he laughed at her.

She had barely spoken with any of her advisors, their duties all keeping them from each other. They would try to plan another war council before Athenna departed for The Hinterlands. More times than she realized had she found herself spying at her commander from across the training field. He walked through his recruits confidently, his honeyed voice now intense, strict, and very loud. While he spent most of his time correcting his recruits and even ranting his frustrations on them; she did find how he praised them as well. He did not smile but he did show compassion for those who deserved it. Athenna would find herself smirking at him whenever she saw him compliment a recruit, slapping their back before continuing.

“Boss? Hello, Boss?” Bull’s voice rumbled in her ears. She broke her attention from the sparring field back at her comrade.

“Hm? You say something?” she blinked up at him.

Bull jutted his chin out to the training field, “I said Cullen’s putting his templar training to good use.”

Oh, thank the creators she didn’t have to lie about why she was staring out there. She raised an eyebrow at him however, “did Cullen tell you he was a templar? He’s not wearing any armor.”

The Qunari shrugged, “he didn’t have to. Might not be a templar shield, but it’s a templar holding it,” he gestured to her commander who was now demonstrating blocking techniques with a recruit. His voice barely carried to them from the wind coming down the frost backs. “He angles the shield just a bit down, helps direct fire or acid away, so it doesn’t spray you in the face.” Cullen let go out the recruit and signaled the two to spar once more. After a few moments of observation, he nodded, “ _much better,_ ” she caught him say. “Qunari train the same way to fight the vints. Your templar’s doing good work.” Bull admired.

Athenna tried imagining Cullen in a templar armor and found herself struggling. The rumors she’d heard of templars were unnerving to say the least; stories she’d been told made them seem like soulless minions of the chantry, faithfully serving without much thought of right or wrong. Her commander was none of those things, she knew that the moment she met him.

Athenna’s gawking lingered longer than she meant to, and Cullen spotted them. His attention fixed on her; brows furrowing; her veins turned to ice. The depth of his glare willed her gaze to the ground and back at Bull. “I’m impressed by what Cullen has done with the troops,” she tried to keep her voice light. The Qunari didn’t notice. Or if he had, he chose not to say anything.

“Damn right, it takes time to build a group into a team, but he’s got their loyalty,” Bull continued, “biggest problem for the inquisition isn’t on the front line. It’s at the top,” he paused and Athenna raised an eyebrow, “you’ve got no leader. No inquisitor.” She narrowed her eyes at him, he was right. The war councils filled with never ending arguments, the inquisition working in separate sectors rather than together, no clear lines of authority either.

She was the Herald though and her voice was the one people flocked to even if she didn’t mean for them to. Athenna Lavellan was no natural born leader. She was a hunter for her clan, leadership was given to the clan mages; the keeper, the first, and the second. Everyone followed that. She was never trained to be a leader. Her heart jumped at the notion though, becoming an official of the inquisition. No, not an official. An Inquisitor. _The_ Inquisitor.

“Then maybe we need one,” Athenna nodded, gazing at her gloved left hand. She craned her neck back at Bull’s curious expression, “I’d be willing,” she admitted thoughtfully.

Bull scoffed at her and she resisted the urge to shrink back, “you?” he huffed, “why you?” He was correct in to question the statement. Why her? Why would a bunch of shemlen listen to an elf of all creatures? However, the more she thought of it, the more she wanted it. This was her chance to make the footprint in Thedas where she couldn’t in her clan. It’s not like her mark could give her a choice to leave the Inquisition anyway.

She straightened up before talking, “nobody else seems to be stepping forward, and since I can seal rifts, I’m here whether I like it or not. If it proved necessary to have an inquisitor, I could make a go of it,” as she spoke, her confidence built to a level that it had never been before. She never explored the possibilities the Inquisition could offer her. All she saw was a cage, her prison. If she were inquisitor, she could make it hers.

Now Bull smirked, breaking from his steely skepticism, “hm…for a second there, you sounded like a Qunari.” Athenna couldn’t help but grin at him, what a difference from being an elf. It made her feel stronger knowing Bull could think of her that way, not Dalish at least. He continued, “my people don’t pick leaders from the smartest, the strongest, or even the most talented. We picked the ones willing to make the hard decisions,” he squinted at the angry breach in the sky then back down at her, to her mark, “and live with the consequences.”

“I wonder what the people would think of me as an Inquisitor…” Athenna wondered aloud.

“You’re an elf.”

“Thank you, Bull,” She countered dryly.

He paused thoughtfully, “You could show them you’re not to be messed with.”

“What? The glowing hand from the sky isn’t enough?” the elf huffed.

“Seeing is believing, boss. Not all these people were at the conclave when you got your mark. Some have never even seen you up close,” he said.

“What do you propose?” Athenna crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow.

“Perhaps taking on an opponent that appears too much for you? Entirely too difficult, someone no one would believe you, of all people, could take on,” he shrugged.

She snorted and pointed at the breach. She would confront it eventually and may even die trying, if that’s not proof she’s not worthy of being Inquisitor, she’s not sure what is.

“Okay, I meant right now.”

“Alright, what if I fight you then?” She didn’t realize what she was asking until the words were in the open air. She, a Dalish elf, wanted to fight Bull, a Qunari ten times her size. Her heart thudded loudly inside her chest as he contemplated her offer. She wasn’t sure which answer she wanted. Sparring Bull and winning would certainly impress her people but losing to Bull may mean embarrassment and a couple broken bones. She gulped.

“It would certainly turn heads,” he muttered, rubbing his chin, “I like you, boss, don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

She scoffed, “I didn’t get here on my good looks and charm, Bull.”

“You’re right, you got here cause of your glowy hand,” he pointed to her mark.

Athenna rolled her eyes, “sounds like you’re afraid I’d win,” she started poking at the bear and she wasn’t sure it was the best idea. She stood straight anyway, shoulders back, chin up.

His laugh bellowed across the training field, “you’ve got balls too! I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.” The self-preserving part of her mind was screaming to stop poking at him, the rest of her told that part to shut it. A mischievous smile wound its way through her lips, adrenaline had began pumping in her veins, “alright, you’ve got a deal.”

“No weapons, just hand to hand sparring,” she held up one finger as a condition.

“Oooo boss, you gonna get frisky?”

She backed away, “maybe,” her voice went lower, teasing.

“I accept your condition, but now I have one of my own,” the ground quaked with his feet moving closer to her. He gestured for her to follow him deeper into the training fields. He planted his feet into the dirt, “HEAR YEE, HEAR YEE, FELLOW FOLLOWERS OF THE INQUISITION!” Bull’s voice boomed through the yard. Athenna jumped at his outburst. _Sweet creators, what have I gotten myself into?_ “YOUR HERALD OF ANDRASTE, A PUNY ADORABLE DALISH ELF, HAS CHALLENGED ME, IRON BULL OF THE MIGHTY QUN, TO A DUEL OF HANDS! COME ONE! COME ALL AND WATCH ME CRUSH YOUR PRECIOUS HERALD!” A thousand daggers sliced into her back, all the attention was on her once again. She hated Bull in that instant. She glared furiously at the Qunari. A small crowd was already gathering around the two of them. Bull was grinning ear to ear. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, shrugging off her heavy coat and scarf, forfeiting her hidden daggers as well. She readied her stance for a spar.

“Oh boss, don’t stop there, feel free to keep stripping,” he waved his hand at her.

“I believe you’re naked enough for the both of us, Bull,” she huffed as she began circling him. He roared a laugh.

“Well, if you hear a snap followed by some pain, raise your left hand,” he sneered sarcastically. The crowd erupted in _“ooooo’s”_ at the insult. Iron Bull joined her in circling.

“Shut up and fight me,” she growled back. Even more responded to her quirk. At that Bull threw his fist to her cheek and she glided, he just barely grazed her skin. The other fist coming almost instantaneously, she ducked the other way. Athenna brought her leg up his waist, smacking her caf to his abdomen. Pain hit her leg, the man was rock solid. She held back her wince, using the momentum to twist herself into the air, jutting her foot to his chest, only pushing him back a little. Like a cat, she landed on her toes, in a squat just below him. He kicked his leg out, pushing the air out of her lungs. For a second time, she spun and landed on her hands and feet some little ways from him. She heard the crowd rushing back, giving her room.

She could hear their murmurs, “what is the Herald doing?” “She’s taking on the Iron Bull? She’s got some serious balls!” “The Herald cannot seriously win this!” both doubters and believers rose from the crowd, but she also heard Sera in the distance.

“Oooooo five sovereigns on Bull!” she cackled.

“Double that for Spider Monkey,” Varric scoffed next to her.

“Deal!” She watched the dwarf and elf shake on it.

“You guys are making bets? Seriously?!” Athenna shrieked at them.

“The Herald of Andraste vs. The Iron Bull? Who wouldn’t bet?” he asked. She just shook her head, concentrating on the fight. Bull began to charge. Her fight or flight instinct prepared her feet to run away but then she thought about it and could use this to her advantage. She began to charge as well. Once he was a few steps between them, Athenna closed the distance, hiking one foot on his knee cap, the other to his stomach. She pushed off his stomach and gifted him a solid kick to his jaw before flipping in the air and landing in a crouch.

The Qunari paused, rubbing the place she had kicked him, and she grinned. It was the one she saved before sinking her dagger into the fade demons, he knew this grin. He clenched his teeth, going to grab for her but she danced from his grasp, sliding into his side. He turned, and she turned with him, keeping in his blind spot. An idea struck her as to slow him down. She glided furiously between all his attempts to bring her down. She moved faster and faster, she could have been a blur.

Bull was clearly getting frustrated, grunting and roaring every time he caught air. A laugh escaped Athenna while she was doing so. She even climbed on his back at one point, making him turn, uselessly spinning in circles. The crowd birthed out some chuckles and mused grunts. When she was sufficient he had been dazed, she hopped off his back and slid her leg hard underneath his knees, bringing him down. She quickly stood up, but Bull was fast, grabbing at her ankle. He thrust himself and Athenna up, holding her upside down. Her hairband fell loose, and she hung like a rag doll. She saw Sera, Varric, and the rest of her squadron watching.

Varric turned his head to the side, trying to get into her vision, “come on, Herald! Ten sovereigns is a lot of cash I can’t afford to lose!”

Athenna growled at the dwarf, trying to swing out of Bull’s grasp but he just squeezed her ankle. The Herald yelped in pain, trying to reach up to his hands. “Give up, elf?” Bull inquired.

“You wish,” she snarled, slamming her fist into his groin. It was surprisingly soft compared to the rest of him. Bull let go of her and howled, holding his crotch.

He crouched down to his knees, writhing in pain, “that-….” He grunted, “that was dirty,” he croaked.

“Uh, rogue?” she pointed at herself, “duh?” and relaxed, arms crossed. “Do you yield?” she tested.

Bull didn’t rebuttal, only began to laugh, and Athenna squinted at him. His fist came up to her stomach, but she stumbled from it. He immediately began throwing punches left and right, she dodged each of them. He had tried to fool her, but he forgot she plays the game of the battlefield, sliding into his blind spot once more.

* * *

The Herald was mad. Plain as day mad. Fury crept into his veins at her ignorance. She was an elf, for maker’s sake. Bull could easily break her in half and she, above all others, is _not_ expendable. The Inquisition cannot afford a war with the Qun either.

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek hard, using the pain to distract himself from the scene he was watching; the Herald sparring with Bull. He was starting to see red the more she taunted him, the more frustrated he became, his swings becoming lethal. A smaller part of him did admire the way she avoided his attacks so gracefully, a dance. Her body was like water, completely immune to his blows. He shook it off violently. How can she be so bloody daft? Qunari were not to be messed with. He lost enough people in Kirkwall to the Qun and he was not about to watch the Herald end up the same way. He began to walk through the crowd, but Bull was racking back and forth.

“So, you just leave the fight?! How is that worthy of you, Herald?!” Bull shouted amongst the circle. And now she abandoned the spar without properly yielding, with their followers watching! Fire raged inside him. Cullen clenched his teeth, seething. She was despicable, cowardly, idiotic- he caught his breath when he saw the Herald, crouching by one of the tents. Her violet irises watched Bull in the distance, with a complimenting dangerous smirk. He cleared his throat loudly. She looked at him, eyes wide, before relaxing as recognition set in. He glared at her with the most fury he could uphold. She didn’t react, only holding a finger to her lips.

“Are you mad? Where is your honor, Herald? You hide here, waiting for the crowd of _your_ followers to dissipate?” he barked at her. Her expression twisted into something he hadn’t seen; anger but something else. Her mouth was a thin line when she glared back at him.

“It’s not as much as hiding as it is waiting for an opportunity,” she corrected him. She stared at Bull again while he searched for her on the field. The crowd was starting to soften a little.

“What if I were your enemy?” He hissed, she remained indifferent, listening, “I could easily out you.”

She was silent for a couple moments, biting her lip, “Who determined we have to be enemies, Cullen?” she asked in a quiet, even voice.

The underlying expression she had become full, brows furrowed, eyes softened, lips plumped out. She recoiled like he had just smacked her. Cullen felt himself defuse at her frown, _maker, how could I talk to her like that?_ Someone had let the hot air out and all he was left in was guilt. Guilt he made her see him like that; guilt of all the nasty scowls he’d shot at her every opportunity he got in the past few days. He rubbed his neck. She was their Herald and he just treated her like a child. She is small which means she will use all opportunities to defend herself. She was a rogue, not a warrior.

“Heral-…Athenna, forgive me, I-…” he glanced up and saw she was gone. He let out a sigh, the shame not leaving him.

A battle cry made him turn rapidly, the Herald emerged, landing on Bull’s shoulders. The Qunari clearly wasn’t expecting it, he began spinning trying to get her off him. The Herald used two fingers and shoved them into his shoulder. Bull howled and immediately fell to the ground. She pushed her boot into his neck and he growled under the pressure.

“Yield!” she demanded. Bull groaned, “I said _yield_!” she shrieked.

He tried to get up and she shoved herself down on him, her intensity could kill with one look. Her calm, sly demeanor was now that of a warrior. She knew she would win the entire time. She hid it, and played Bull, luring him into the helpless elf act, all the while tiring him in the process. When he finally let his guard down because she faded into the background, she went in for the kill. _Remarkable_. Cullen stood there, jaw slack, dumbfounded.

“Agh!” he struggled, “Andraste’s tits, woman, I yield!” The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers. The Herald’s sneer melted, relief and victory replaced it. She reached her hand down and helped Bull up. He was grinning too now, and Cullen felt the most intense relief she hadn’t angered him. “You are fucking diabolical, you know that?” he patted her on the back.

She beamed now, “It’s one of my best traits,” she sang. That smile could melt all the frost backs. It left Cullen in a daze, watching her lope off with her squadron. She looked back at him for a split second, smile faltering. He couldn’t imagine what his face was like but apparently it wasn’t kind. As before, she focused ahead quickly, back towards the rest of Haven. Cullen curled his fingers in a fist; disgusted with himself. He determined in that moment, he would never underestimate Athenna Lavellan again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot longer than I originally intended but I've had that scene of Bull and Athenna in my head for the longest time, so it was time to put it on paper!-...computer screen!...you know what I mean. Thanks for reading and as always kudos/feedback is welcomed!


	3. Freedom unto the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. The Eternal Rest of a Ronin- Really Slow Motion  
> 2\. War Table Theme (It’s all I could hear when I was writing the council)  
> 3\. Breaking Down- Florence and the Machine  
> 4\. Dangerous (Feat. Linea)- Thomas Bergersen  
> 5\. You Don’t Own Me (Feat G-Eazy)- Grace  
> 6\. Power of Consequence- Really Slow Motion
> 
> Additional note: ...Disgusted noise

_As the final Qunari stepped forward, magic bursting forth from his fingertips, Hawke tensed for one more fight in the square. Then suddenly, the mana ceased, and a sword pierced through its chest, blood spurting into the group. With a clean swipe, the Qunari’s head was chopped clear off its neck. As the body fell, Hawke found its assassin, dawned in heavy armor, a gold headpiece settled into her long golden locks. Her eyes were intense, angry wisps of blue flames. She gracefully sheathed her bloodied sword and offered her hand to the Champion._

_“I am Knight Commander Meredith,” she declared, pulling him up. She studied him before recognition crossed her features, “I know you. The name ‘Hawke’ has turned up in my reports many times,” she paused, furrowing her eyebrows, deepening her analyzing, “Too many.” Hawke stepped forward towards Kirkland’s Templar leader with caution. She turned from him and examined the destruction of Hightown. “But that doesn’t matter now.” One of the Qun pushed aside another resident in the direction of the keep. “The Qunari are taking people to the Keep and may already be in control. We will need to deal with them,” she seethed._

_Hawke stiffened in hesitation. He observed the same scene, but he knew what must be done. “I’ll do whatever it takes to defend my home,” he stated with vigor, lacing his hands behind his back._

_“Excellent. Head to the keep-_

The door to the war room opened with its usual creek. Athenna peered up from her book. Josephine stopped in her tracks and scrutinized the elf with a hand on her hip. Athenna scanned for why she was upset; the map was rolled out, pieces in place, ready for the council. She dutifully prepared the table for the council before. She shrugged and continued to read until Josephine cleared her throat loudly.

“What?” She asked innocently. The ambassador gestured to the Herald’s boots which were dirty and crossed, resting on top of the war table. “I didn’t have time to clean them. I was out with the rogues this afternoon,” she defended herself, not lifting her gaze. Josephine let out a sigh and pointed to the map. Recognition crossed the Herald’s features and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Reluctantly, she slid her feet off, but just crossed her ankles over each other, continuing to read.

“Forgive me for believing you could have manners. Sometimes, I forget you were raised in a forest,” Josephine remarked dryly.

“Har, Har, Josie,” Athenna licked her finger, turning the page. Josephine shook her head, readying her clipboard of reports, lighting the flame atop.

Leliana followed in a few minutes later, muttering a small greeting before getting her paperwork ready as well. The silence continued as the two Inquisition leaders prepared for the war council. “Already halfway through, Herald?” Leliana’s assumption made the elf look up.

“Yeah, but it’s a small volume. A little too small. It’s like Varric is leaving out details,” she scoffed, folding the page corner over and resting the book on top of the table, away from the map.

“I agree. It feels rather rushed, the tale,” Leliana nodded, moving some of her pieces on the map.

“I don’t have the heart to tell him that, but I also agree,” Josephine spoke up, “What part are you at, Athenna?”

“Hawke just met the knight commander for the first time, charming woman,” she replied monotoned.

“Oh, give it a minute,” Leliana said, waving her hand off.

Athenna got up from her seat, stretching her back, little cracks popping up as she did so. She had been in there longer than she thought. They had returned from the meeting with the mages a few days before. It only solidified her decision to side with them. A Tevinter magister had driven the arl of Redcliffe from his own castle and he claimed to own the mages. It disgusted her, using the mages as slaves. Though she hears it a common practice in Tevinter, it did not stop her blood from boiling. She can’t abandon these people, not when she knew exactly what it was like to be oppressed by the shemlen. She twisted her own piece; a little dagger, in her fingers, knowing exactly where it would strike on the map. She observed the mark on Redcliffe Village.

The door flew open, and two sets of footsteps walked in. Cassandra and Cullen greeted her. “Sorry we’re late,” Cassandra said, already leaning against the table. “Shall we begin, Herald?” she asked.

“But of course,” Athenna smirked, spinning the mini dagger in between her fingers. Athenna had specifically called this council because they had already had one the day she returned, all the advisors were still working on their individual assignments; Leliana and Josephine were doing supply runs of herbs and metals, Cullen’s men were still charging through the frost backs. Her heart beat wildly, letting her advisors know her final choice. She knew there would be at least one person who wouldn’t approve, and another who would make it known. She glanced between Cassandra and Cullen, sucking in a deep breath through her nose. Athenna stabbed the point of Redcliffe on the map.

“I will be accepting the invitation Alexius has extended to negotiate the trade of the mages.”

Cullen was already shaking his head, and Athenna steeled herself for the inevitable boat of rants she was about to receive, “We don’t have the man power to take the castle. We either find another way in or give up this nonsense and go get the templars,” his lip curled up, nearly sneering at her. A look she was all too used to in the past few weeks.

Defense ready, mouth open, Cassandra rested a firm hand on Athenna’s back. She spoke before her Herald could, “Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister, this cannot be allowed to stand,” the elf’s jaw went slack. She was expecting resistance from the Seeker, but she was…siding with Athenna? She bit back a victorious grin.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name, it’s an obvious trap,” Josephine chimed in from her corner. So, the disapproval came from Josie this time, and she thought she was getting better at reading her shems.

“And yet some of us wanted to sit here and do nothing,” Leliana scowled pointedly at the ambassador and commander.

“Not this again,” Josephine jeered through gritted teeth.

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It’s repelled thousands of assaults,” Cullen chimed in. He turned his gaze to Athenna and she felt small, a child holding a torch, His eyes turned to fire, “if you go in there, you’ll die,” his voice sent chills down her spine, he was genuinely worried for her safety, it wasn’t just about the mages. “And we’ll lose the only means of closing the rifts, I won’t allow it.”

The three proceeded to argue once more. Each time the Herald tried to give her opinion to the situation, she was talked over and ignored. Athenna huffed, trailing to her piece as they all debated. Bull’s words rang in her head, _“my people don’t pick leaders from the smartest, the strongest, or even the most talented. We picked the ones willing to make the hard decisions and live with the consequences.”_

“We can’t just give up,” Athenna’s cry echoed loud enough for them to stop and stare at her, “there has to be something we can do.” She would not let the mages down. She couldn’t. “There must be another way in,” she racked her brain, “a sewer? A water course? Anything?” she perked. She was met with silence as a reply. Just as she was about to throw her hands up in defeat.

“Wait,” Leliana’s tone cooled her frustrations, “there is a secret passage into the castle; an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops but we could send agents through,” she nodded.

“Oh, thank the creators, we’re getting somewhere,” Athenna sighed in relief.

Cullen held up his hand shaking his head, “too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” She had never wanted to ring that man’s neck so much. He was right, and she _hated_ it.

Then an idea struck her, “then give him what he wants,” she countered to her commander, he raised an eyebrow at her, “give him me,” she proposed confidetly. He seemed like he would argue again then stopped himself. The ball was in her court now, her smirk grew.

Cullen peered to the other advisors, “focus their attention on Lavellan while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it could work,” he gazed at every one of them, landing on Athenna last. They had finally reached a consensus.

“I get to be the bait. It’s my huntress training all over again,” she sung cynically.

The door behind her was thrown open, “fortunately, you’ll have help,” a velvet voice rang in behind her. Athenna turned to see the Tevinter magister- _mage_ , she corrected herself- Dorian Pavus strutting into the war room. They had met briefly when sealing one of Alexius’ rifts inside the chantry on the last journey to Redcliffe.

“Dorian,” Athenna beamed at her ally, “it’s good to see you again.”

“The Herald of Andraste herself remembers me, how humbling,” Dorian exclaimed, patting her shoulder. Cullen studied them skeptically.

“This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, commander,” one of the messengers chimed in behind them.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” He turned to Cullen,  
“So if you’re going in after him, I’m coming along,” his dark irises nodded to Athenna, squeezing her shoulder. She recalled him saying he was a student of Alexius, if anyone knew anything about the man’s power, it was Dorian. She had hoped she would run into him again when she finally decided to side with the mages.

“Then, we must go,” she stood her ground.

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen spoke again to Athenna, softer. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this,” she heard the pleas underneath his words; _please don’t do this_.

She blinked, “then don’t,” she answered his plea, silent and not, just as gently. His eyebrows furrowed at her, resembling the slightest hint of pain, “I’m just asking for your help,” she looked to Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra too. The warrior was the first to agree and the others followed, Cullen as reluctant as he was, also tipped his head down; submission.

She realized the weight of the situation; a mission she might very well not come back from. Her breaths came out shorter, but she gulped down the bile rising in her throat. “Dismissed,” she uttered nearly soundlessly, she grabbed her book off the war table, cradling it to her chest.

“Splendid, we ride in a few days,” Dorian sang with feigned enthusiasm, “now if you’ll excuse us, I would like to discuss a few things with the Herald.” He kept a hand on her back, guiding her away from the doom and gloom of the war council. Her heart beat was out of her chest, panic settling in. She had to keep a brave face, she wanted to do this- no she _needed_ to do this. The chantry felt smaller, crushing her down. She was trapped in her decision.

Dorian guided her to a study. He shut the door. Athenna’s book fell from her hands and landed with two soft _thuds_ on the floor. She dropped to her knees, shuttering breaths as if they were her last. Her mind shut down, her body a victim to the wrath of anxiety and panic. She tried to speak but no words came out. What if she failed? What would happen to the Inquisition? What would happen to the world? Her hands were in her blonde locks, twisting in the strands until there was searing pain.

“Easy there, love, easy,” Dorian followed her down, gently grasping her wrists.

“Ir Abelas,” she whimpered an elven apology, “Ir Abelas,” she repeated.

“Tel’ din abelas,” Dorian replied quietly, _“do not be sorry,”_ trying to soothe her fingers from her scalp. “Ma ane din u,” _“you are not alone.”_

“M-…ma dirtha elvhenor?” _“you speak elvish?”_ another shuttered ripped through her, new anxiety coating on her nerves. She trembled from the stress.

Dorian let out a small chuckle, “Din’ son,” _“Not well,”_ Athenna nodded to him, his accent and pronunciation were awful. The vice grip on her locks were loosening. Her frame quivered as she hyperventilated. Her heartbeat was behind her eyes.

Her mind worked slowly, more than usual, to translate to common tongue, “I couldn’t…I couldn’t break down. Especially not in front of Cullen,” she shook her head, trying to dispel images of his golden irises, pleading with hers, “he’d never let me go,” her voice broke. Her elven accent was still heavy with the language still on her mind

“I can protect you, Herald, with my life,” Dorian promised.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” she denied. “I’m afraid of what will happen to the Inquisition, to the breach, if we fail,” the elf moved her arms around herself. She could sense her sanity falling at the seams and the only way she could save it were to hold the pieces together. “The pressure,” she struggled to breathe, “it’s crushing me,” she croaked.

The mage was thoughtful for a moment before speaking, “In all these stories I hear in the imperium; the Hero of Ferelden, The Champion of Kirkwall, and now the infamous Herald of Andraste, all of Thedas’ fate rested on their shoulders. I always thought the stories just added that for dramatics. It seems I was wrong,” Dorian mused.

Her gaze found the page opened in the book. It was the part where Hawke was about to showdown with the Arishok. Hawk refused to let the Qunari enslave his city and was fighting bravely to defend it. Her shaking fingers grabbed the book and closed it.

 “But you aren’t alone, Athenna. You have your advisors, your squad, and now me. We will not let you fail,” the mage vowed. They sat there for several minutes until Athenna could control her breathing. She loosened her arms, resting them on her knees, finally glimpsing up at her friend. He was kind, not the least bit amused as he had been the other times she’d seen him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Dorian smiled softly before getting up. He offered her his hand and she took it gratefully.

“Ma're vhalla” _“You’re welcome”_ he returned the gratitude with her language.

* * *

“No, I refuse,” the seeker hissed.

“Cassandra you must-”

“No, Herald. I have promised to see you through and I _will_. For better or for worse,” She slammed her fist into the table.

Athenna sighed, leaning back in her chair, thumbs massaging the bridge of her nose. The woman was so damned stubborn, but she had to-needed to understand. “I’m preparing for all actualities, Seeker,” she defended, “I need someone to take care after the Inquisition if I don’t…” she found her dagger, still angrily struck into the map. It had been a long night, preparing the trip to Redcliffe.

“You will come back, just have faith!” Cassandra snapped, “I’m coming with you. End of discussion,” she began to walk out.

“No!” her hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, “not end of discussion,” tugging harshly.  The seeker let out a disgusted noise, mustering her most unholy glare. Athenna remained unscathed, stubbornly jutting out her chin. “I’m just as mortal as you, which means we must be ready if this plan falls through. I need the Inquisition ready to seal the breach whether I’m here or not,” she talked as evenly as she could. Cassandra stayed her glower. Athenna softened her expression, “Please, Cassandra, you’re the one I trust the most to lead.”

“And what would you have us do?” she spoke slowly through her clenched teeth.

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” another disgusted noise, “work with Solas. My mark cannot be the only one in existence. Find another solution if you must,” she pleaded.

“You really think you will die?” Cassandra asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I will do my damnest to live. As hard as it is to believe, the Inquisition does mean something to me,” she revered coldly, “and that’s why you will prevail if anything were to happen to me.”

Cassandra gnawed on her lip, skirting her eyes away from that of her Herald. This was the hardest thing Athenna could ask of her. She was one of her best warriors and to leave her behind, to watch the Inquisition is not ideal but it was necessary. They cannot all solely rely on her when she is thrown into danger every day. Especially since she is now being given to the unknown darkness of a Tevinter magister, nothing could be guaranteed about her safety. While Cassandra had been the first to point a finger at Athenna for what happened at the Conclave, she was also the first to offer her sword, to fight for her and the Inquisition. The woman was always up front about her intentions and never cared to offend Athenna, but simply was. The fact that she did not hide behind her excuses made the elf trust her even more.

The seeker rubbed her forehead and let out one last disgusted noise, “ _fine_ ,” she sighed. A relieved smile stretched through Athenna’s cheeks. That was surprisingly not as painful as she thought it would be, “but you _will_ come back to us,” she pointed her finger to the map. Her brown eyes bored into hers.

“I’ll do my best, seeker,” she dipped her head. Cassandra turned to exit. Athenna hung her head behind her chair, wanting this trip over with. “Commander,” Cassandra greeted. Another pair of footsteps entered the war room. She could see Cullen standing in front of the war table. He was stoic, bleak; gilded irises set in place. He waited until the door closed behind him before he spoke.

“Why?” he asked.

“Can you be more specific?” Athenna mumbled.

“Why the mages? Why risk your life for them? You are not even a mage yourself,” she could hear his frustration leaking out. It only made her want to wave him off, tell him to quit bothering her. She understood he was her advisor and he would do so, as her commander. This was deeper though, past what tactically made sense for the troops and the Inquisition.

“They can close the breach,” she stated simply.

“As can the templars, you wouldn’t have to fight a Tevinter magister by yourself just to help them,” he leaned over the map.

“I can’t just leave them with Alexius. With them in his power, he would be unstoppable. And they very well don’t deserve this,” Athenna had to work harder to keep her voice even. His prejudices towards the mages made her sick to her stomach. This was not the same man from a few weeks ago. Or had she just failed to see it beyond his mesmerizing smile and golden eyes?

“And what would you have them as? Allies?” Cullen countered incredulously, as if the idea sounded ridiculous.

“I very well won’t take them as prisoners,” she scrunched her eyebrows together, the beginnings of a sneer.

“Without proper supervision, their magic could endanger the entire Inquisition,” he mirrored her expression, hands turning to claws at the edge of the table.

“Yes, I am sure they would appreciate being taken from one prison just to be shoved into another,” sarcasm dripped in her tone heavily, “unless you prefer we lock them in a stone tower and throw away the key?”

“The circles didn’t serve as a jail, they were to help mages control their magic. It protected the world and themselves from their own powers,” he was growing angrier and it only challenged her to prove him wrong.

She coughed out a humorless laugh, “That’s what the templars call it. I don’t think I need to remind you how well the circles worked out after Kirkwall,” her glare shot to the book.

He took a deep breath, cooling himself the best he could, “I’m not saying we treat them as if they were in a circle, but it would mean more patrols, more supervisors, more resources to keep them and everyone around them safe.”

“Or you could just trust them,” she snapped.

“It’s not that simple-”

“It would be if you just treated them like people!” Athenna shouted, “or do you still stand by your words?” she growled, taking the book and slamming it down in the middle of the table. The other pieces wobbled from the force of it. Her dagger remained still.

“How dare you,” he snarled, “I left that life behind for a reason!” He smacked his own hands into the map, his voice vibrated off the walls. She’d heard Cullen yell plenty of times at recruits, but it was always well meant. This anger, it was a deep rooted predistortion of the mages and it seethed out of him in loathing waves. The worst part; it was all directed at her. The kind and passionate man she had met was nowhere to be found.

“You may have left it behind but your prejudices- your hate for these innocent people, still lies deep inside you. For something you don’t even understand,” she sounded hoarse, keeping in angry tears.

“I know more about mages than anyone-”

“You will never understand what it’s like to be oppressed!” she shrieked. He flinched from her, “You, a shemlen, Ferelden, templar, knight captain, and now commander of the Inquisition’s forces. You will _never_ be oppressed with such titles. You will never be hated because of what you are born with. You _chose_ to be a jailer, but they didn’t choose to be your inmates,” Athenna grasped her book and began walking towards to the door.

He caught her arm tightly as she tried to pass him. She bit her tongue to keep herself from yelping and mustered the most furious scowl she could. “I thought you were different,” she fumed. She had barely reached above a whisper, but he had heard her; his grip tensing.

Cullen stared at her for a long time, his eyes searching in hers, becoming easily more infuriated at what he was finding. Or what he wasn’t finding. If she wasn’t so mad, she would have taken note of how close they stood to each other. His warmth radiated onto her in angry waves. The scent of soap and the forest wafted into her nose. It was homey somehow, what should have been a comfort. Instead, they stood in hateful silence, basking in their energies. He opened his mouth only to mutter back at her, “I guess that makes two of us.”

That stung but she didn’t show it. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction knowing he’d harmed her, in more ways than one that very night. Athenna seized her arm back and stomped through the doors. Nothing else could be said that wouldn’t make the night worse.

* * *

The light from the morning sun projected bright pinks and yellows onto the sky. The training fields were quiet, his men still had a few hours of rest before the day would begin. Cullen, as usual, found sleep alluding him. Instead of laying in bed, he chose to pick up a sword and work his stress. His mind kept thinking back to enraged violet eyes and a thin lined mouth.

A dense sensation of shame pushed down on his shoulders. Cullen had already regretted his words to the Herald, she had been hitting him where it hurt. All he wanted to do was hurt her back, just so he could be right. He had tried to go back and apologize the next day, but she waved him off, not saying a word. She would need time, but they didn’t have time. The Inquisition couldn’t operate if they didn’t work together. He wasn’t sure if he could do anything short of groveling on his knees, begging for forgiveness, for the sake of face.

It was the day the Herald would depart for Redcliffe Castle. Cullen had given her worship every opportunity to back out, to just think, if the mages were truly worth it. An army of them would benefit the Inquisition, he would not deny that. At what cost though? He’d seen what magic can do when it is not under control. The demons from Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall still haunt him.

The Herald probably believed Cullen despised her in a way; his outbursts when she defended them were the main source of their conversation the past few weeks. The argument from the nights previous did not help at all either. Despite this, it was far from the truth. He admired the Herald and always had; her job was not easy and not just anyone could do it. She was more than her mark, she was a symbol to their people. It made him feel guilty they nearly had a friendship until this mage and templar business started to rise.

He remembered her hearty laugh and kind smile from the weeks prior when she was still recovering. The one moment they weren’t commander and Herald, but rather Cullen and Athenna. He had to admit that it was odd seeing her out of armor; its all she ever wore around Haven. She was soft, vulnerable, he realized. He already felt as if he were intruding when he walked into her cabin that day. But she offered him a warm welcome and the more they talked, the more he relaxed. She was not what he expected in the least. The Dalish were a proud people and sometimes that pride would cloud their judgement of the humans they encountered. But not Athenna. Or, at least, that’s not who he thought she was. After what happened that night, he wasn’t entirely convinced anymore.

However, it was not her calm and welcoming demeanor that surprised him but when she blushed at him. Perhaps she hadn’t meant her comment to come across the way it did. Her shyness was something he hadn’t seen since the day he met her, it was endearing. But how her eyelashes hugged her cheeks when she glanced down so timidly, not the confident and bold face she carried all the time. Loose strands of hair crowned around her cheeks tenderly. He felt if he touched her, she would break. Unworthy, was all he thought, how unworthy he was to see her in this state.

Cullen found his own blush returning and he scolded himself. “Maker, she’s the Herald,” he mumbled, “not just another pretty face.” The hours passed peacefully, his mind allowing him to focus on practicing. Without lyrium in his veins, it was harder to fight. He was fatigued and had to work just as much to slash down his enemies.

Eventually, he heard the greetings of the townsfolk to the Herald. He saw her reaching for her horse; her expression was set, ready to move. She did however wave to those who acknowledged kindly. Varric, Iron Bull, and Dorian followed in behind her. She attached her pack to her horse, patting its mane. Cullen hadn’t realized where his feet were taking him until Varric addressed him by his given nickname.

“Good Morning, Curly,” Varric called out cheerfully, stuffing his own pack onto a smaller charge. Cullen nodded to the dwarf.

The Herald looked up from what she was doing, and he could have sworn he saw her cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink. She bristled and resumed her attention back to her horse, “Commander,” she said curtly.

“Herald,” he found his voice mimic hers. She didn’t bother correcting him and that hurt.

“Brrr…” Dorian shuttered, “I see the tension has not thawed from the council,” he quipped, pulling a leg up onto his steed. Her squad said nothing more and went ahead.

“Leliana’s agents are already in the Hinterlands, they will await your arrival,” he spoke, clipped.

“Good,” the Herald replied. Now she hoisted herself onto her charge, eyes avoiding his. It dawned on him that this maybe the last time he sees her. He tried to push the pessimism back into his mind and pulling his faith in her forward. It didn’t stop a thin frown from forming on his mouth. He couldn’t leave it like this. It would drive him mad. She began to click her tongue at her charge, but Cullen stepped forward in time.

“Herald,” he sighed gently but just enough for her to hear him. She let out a sharp sigh, tugging against the reigns.

“What?” she asked, she was annoyed now but something else laid under her glare. She appeared impatient, leaning towards the head of the horse.

Cullen was at a loss for words. What could he say to make this better? _I’m sorry I yelled at you for protecting the mages? I’m sorry that your intentions are good, but your views are wrong?_ He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about the heat rushing to his face. Her tattoos crinkled against her scowl at him and he found himself tracing the lines that swept over her eyes. He never realized how intricate it was. Then he blinked out of his stupor to realize she was still waiting on him to answer. He sighed, “Fight well,” he made his voice as soft as possible, “and may your return be swift.”

She relaxed a little, “I will,” she muttered briskly. Before he could say more, she clacked her tongue at her horse and she was off. He began cursing himself. _Idiot. Fool. ‘Fight Well’? Is she your Herald or one of your recruits?_ He took a deep breath, his headache pounding in the bridge of his nose. He pinched his fingers over it, pleading with the pain to stop for just two minutes.

Cullen watched Athenna and her comrades ride into the distance. All he could see was her blonde hair, swinging in its ponytail, brushing her back while she rode. “Come back safely,” he mumbled, closing his eyes from the image of her leaving, “so I can apologize to you properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Both this chapter and the next are heavily Cullen/Lavellan development! Enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!


	4. Her Unsullied Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist
> 
> 42- Coldplay  
> Sunder- Really Slow Motion  
> Atlas- Coldplay  
> Celestial Gate- Really Slow Motion  
> Last of the Light- Two Steps from Hell

The future was exactly what Athenna feared. Her moment of weakness with Dorian was warranted. Even leaving Cassandra behind, her best hope of the Inquisition prevailing, was doomed. She controlled any of her anxiousness from returning. She had to remain calm and get to Alexius at any cost. If Athenna knew anything, she would not allow this future to happen or would die trying.

Dorian and Athenna managed to find Bull and Varric. They were in red lyrium stupors but happy to see their lost comrades. Her heart broke at the sight of them and anger erupted in her veins at the same time. How could Alexius _do_ this? How is this a preferable world?! Just simply because the “Elder One” said so? She would find that mage and end him with one dagger to his head, and the other his heart.

As they fought through demons, they found themselves in the torture chambers until Athenna heard a familiar voice, along with the harsh sounds of slaps.

“You _will_ break!” a man hissed.

“I will die first,” Leliana snarled. Without a second thought, Athenna burst through the door. The jailer turned to her entrance, “Or you will,” she twisted her legs to put the man in a choke hold, swinging her thighs back and forth. With a loud crack and thud, he fell to the floor. Athenna studied her spymaster; Leliana’s expression was wrinkled, sullen from the torture. Her perfect skin dried due to malnourishment. The plump and healthy woman she’d seen only hours before was nowhere. The Herald gulped down her bile and ran to unlock her restraints. “You’re alive,” Leliana breathed weakly as the Herald helped her stand.

“You’re safe now,” Athenna said, keeping her tone even, still reeling in her appearance.

Leliana’s lip curled up maddeningly, “forget ‘safe.’ If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than ‘safe,” her crystal eyes, the only things not affected by her ailments were lit with a fire that had been long dulled, “you need to end this.” Without much of a word Athenna nodded. Leliana collected a bow and quiver at the other end of the room, waving off Dorian’s attempts to talk to her about what happened. She scoffed, “this is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist,” her nostrils flared, “I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real,” she turned on her heel before any of them could say anymore.

Eventually, after fighting through waves of demons, they made their way to a large ornate door. Dorian claimed it was protected by magic but reacted to one of the large red lyrium shards they found. The door would need more power to open.

“There has to be more around,” Athenna looked and saw the multiple doors, it would take them all hours to scour the castle. She felt her skin grow cold at the idea of splitting up, but it was the only way to get to Alexius, “we all split up and look for red lyrium shards. Do _not_ stray far from this room,” Athenna said through her clenched teeth. Dorian was clearly about to argue but she silenced him with a look.

“She is right, the sooner we find the lyrium, the sooner we get through those doors,” Leliana scathed before strutting through one of the passages.

“But Spider Monkey-”

“ _Now_ , Varric,” Athenna hissed. He didn’t even flinch, just clutched onto Bianca and stormed through a door on the far side of the room. Bull nodded and chose another. Dorian followed her through the last and up the stairs which led to a long hallway of different rooms.

“You search one side I’ll search the other,” Athenna instructed. Dorian nodded and swiftly turned to one of the open rooms. The Herald walked to the far side of the hallway, picking at a lock. The red lyrium next to her sang harshly in her ear, demanding for her to succumb to it. Her teeth clenched, sensing the waves of heat it radiated.

She twitched her fingers and the lock clicked. She sat back on her knees and reveled in her trivial victory before turning the knob. The room was dark, dying embers burned in the fire adjacent to her. A couple chests were in the room and she quickly began scouring through them, picking some of the locks on the additional chests. Athenna stuffed her pack as she looted, knowing if she returned to Haven, Minaeve would want a look at these. It wasn’t until the last chest she looted she was victorious, the shard glowed angrily when she held it. This little piece too was shrieking its demented tune to her. Athenna tried to shake the uncomfortable stirring in her gut as she placed it in her pack. The elf could have sworn she felt small vibrations while she carried it. As she got up, the sound of a sword unsheathing made her seize her daggers. A figure stood in the door and she could not tell if it were a demon or another minion of Alexius.

The figure immediately swung at her, letting out a gurgling cry. She repelled the attack, retaining her daggers in an x formation before flipping out of the way. The creature was already in her space again, bashing her with a shield. Athenna stumbled back from the blunt force, blood trickled down her head. It went again to bash her but this time she was prepared, jumping out of the way and slashing into its back.

The thing roared in pain but swung behind itself, just grazing Athenna’s cheek. She hit the ground and let her leg jut out, kicking the sword from its hand, rolling back. Athenna didn’t realize her mistake until the hard metal hit her square in the face. Her head spun as she looked up at the ceiling.

Athenna saw the creature throw its shield down and take her by the neck, her airways begged for relief. She was slammed against the cobblestone wall, yelping. She uselessly tried to claw at its wrist. _I can’t die, not like this_ , she fought furiously.

“You play these tricks on me, Alexius,” the thing breathed, in a voice Athenna knew all too well. _No,_ she blinked back tears, _not him_ , she thought. With shaky breaths, she pulled off her glove, allowing the mark to illuminate green. “I will _not_ submit!” he growled at her.

“C-…” Athenna wheezed, “Cullen,” she whimpered. His skin flamed under her mark, angry and sunken just like Leliana. His amber eyes were now a dark shade of crimson, small red crystals protruding his once flawless face. She closed the gap between her fingers and his face, lightly touching his cheek. He hissed away from it. “Cullen, it-…” she tried to breathe but his grasp grew stronger.

“ _No_ ,” he cried viciously through gritted teeth, “ _you’re dead,_ ” he slammed her a the wall again. Athenna grunted while pain speared her back. Her eyes were watering, she would die at the clutches of her commander. He glared at her, “you wave her in front of me, but I will not fall prey to it anymore!” She did this. He was like this because she didn’t listen.

“Cullen,” Athenna coughed, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her mark shined stronger against his cheek and she was aware of the demonic energy receding. He began to loosen his clasp. His gaze faltered at the sight of her, tears falling one by one down, begging forgiveness.

“You’re dead,” he was weaker this time. Athenna could find herself breathing easier. He was shaking his head.

“Alexius, he-…” Athenna gulped a breath, “s-sent us into a time rift. He was trying to rid me from time,” she uselessly tried to stroke him, “but instead Dorian was able to send us forward. To the future,” a tear dripped onto his wrist. This dark future was already proving enough of her mistakes but looking at Cullen, tortured, half possessed, mad, broke her into pieces. They left on such cold terms and she may have never had the chance to tell him how wrong she was, she cupped his cheek with her other gloved hand, he began to wince away, “I know I was gone,” she hiccupped, “But I’m here now. I’m going to make things right,” her gaze bored intensely into his, “I promise.” Somewhere behind the furious red irises, she saw fire, the same color she remembered.

He opened his mouth and closed it several times, “Athenna?” he croaked, the first time she had heard him use her name. Her shattered heart could have soared.

Athenna nodded quickly, “Yes, Lethallin, it’s me.”

Moments passed but he finally let her go, stumbling back, disbelief in his features. Athenna crouched down, trying to catch her breath. She had to take a few shuttering breaths before he dropped to his own knees. His armor was battered and singed, his signature mantel was also missing. The more she studied him, she found even more red lyrium shards sticking out of his body; the most prominent in his left shoulder. Athenna squeezed her eyes shut, praying it was all a dream.

Rough gloves grabbed her shoulders then and pulled her forward. Athenna gasped as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest.  Now he was the one struggling to breathe. She was frozen in shock. The man she left behind was never so terrified. He had been broken to a point where he welcomed any familiarity. Unless…his hands were in her hair, tangling through the strands of hair in her loose ponytail. Unless he truly did care about what happened to her?

“I don’t believe in the Maker anymore,” he murmured brokenly, “but if I did, I’d be thanking him…for finally bringing you back,” he hugged her tighter. _Oh Cullen,_ Athenna thought. She returned his embrace, pushing herself harder to him. The lyrium in his body also screeched to her, its life being supplied by his own blood. How could she be sure it was Cullen? But she then realized, her nose was touching the bare skin of his neck and she could just smell it; the small hint of the forest. There was no denying who it belonged to; there could be no replication of that exact scent. This was her commander, no doubt.

Footsteps approached the room, Cullen tensed, his hands turning to claws. “Athenna?! Are you okay?” Dorian rushed into the room. His eyes widened when he found his companion in the arms of her former commander, who was pulsing with red lyrium.

“You found the commander. Good work, Herald,” he praised. Cullen slowly let her go, keeping tense fingers on her shoulder.

“Dorian I-, we-” Athenna stuttered, her cheeks started to flare.

“Now as much as I love a heartwarming reunion, perhaps we could stop Alexius first?” he quirked. Athenna patted Cullen’s hand before standing up. Wordlessly, he also got up to retrieve his sword and shield. Dorian spotted the blood on Athenna’s forehead and probed at it. She winced in response. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch,” Athenna said quietly, hoping Cullen didn’t hear. He would feel bad enough. She grabbed a rag from her pack, dotting the cut with it. Dorian looked between her and Cullen, raising an eyebrow.

“What exactly were you doing here, Commander?” Dorian asked, mindfully pulling Athenna behind him. She let out a protested grunt at him but the Tevinter ignored her.

He looked up, solemnly. He noted the mage’s protective stance over the Herald. “Let me start from the beginning,” He sheathed his sword and latched his shield onto his back, “when you all didn’t return after months of waiting and no word, we sent scouts ahead and eventually they didn’t come back either. Josephine, Cassandra, and I declared this an act of war against the Inquisition. It took even more months of careful, tactical planning. As I said, Redcliffe is still one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. Even more so now,” he walked over slowly, when he was only a few feet away, Dorian took a half step back. Cullen didn’t pursue, a sign of peace. “All the while the breach grew bigger and bigger until…well, I’m sure you’ve looked outside.” Athenna shivered at the image she saw; the breach was everywhere, the underworld now in Thedas.

“We only just attacked two fortnights ago,” he looked directly at Athenna now, “most of the Inquisition died with it,” her worst fears had come true. He continued, “Cassandra slit her own throat when we were to surrender,” Athenna’s soft gasp made him pause. Cullen averted his gaze, trying to dispel his own pain. He continued after a few deep breaths, “Alexius took me in as a prisoner and began force feeding me red lyrium. I rather he just killed me,” his voice broke again.

“So, you’re a prisoner, just wondering the halls?” Dorian asked dubiously.

“No, with that red lyrium, combined with the lyrium that was already in my veins, he had the power to bend my will. When he knew he could control my actions; he saw me as a tool to be used, rather than just another captive,” his face crumpled in shame. Athenna felt more tears boiling inside. Even the strongest willed person she knew succumbed to him. She had begun to step toward him but Dorian pushed her back.

“You admit you can’t be trusted then? You could turn any moment. Attack her again?” he prompted.

“No, I will not attack her again. I only attacked her in the first place because Alexius will send demons after me when I try to struggle against my lyrium chains. They all look like you, Athenna. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you apart,” he muttered painfully.

“But you did in the end,” Athenna spoke up.

“Herald, he works for Alexius now,” Dorian reminded her.

“It was not a willing alliance, believe me,” Cullen hissed, “I’m more ashamed of myself than ever before. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he shook his head. “I want Alexius dead more than anyone.”

“You could still turn on us,” Athenna said quietly, hating the words as they left her mouth. She couldn’t deny the facts. This man _was_ Cullen. It didn’t make the truth that she may have to kill him any easier.

“Is it just the two of you? Or did you find the others?” He asked.

“Varric, Bull, and Leliana are searching for the other shards to unlock the door in the main hall,” Athenna replied.

“Five of you and one of me, you could easily take me down-”

“Cullen-”

“And I will hold myself back as much as I can,” he promised, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. Athenna couldn’t think of hurting him, let alone killing him. He began meaning more to her in those small minutes than any of her time in the Inquisition. He was her friend then, and she couldn’t bear it. Dorian looked back and saw her expression.

“Let him help,” Athenna whispered to him, begging. Dorian gave her a concerning expression before letting out a sigh.

“We’re not going to get that door opened just standing here, are we?” he turned, passing the loot he found to Athenna. She shoved it in her pack and followed him out.

More demons had filled the hallways in their absence. Dorian, Athenna, and Cullen fought through them. Athenna had seen Cullen fight plenty of times; every move was calculated, precious, and without falter. This man fought clumsily but roughly, the lyrium giving him an overcompensation of strength. It shook Athenna to her core, even as he slashed one of the demons coming into her left flank. He slayed it, pausing in his stance, looking back at her. She could just barely feel the ghost of her wound pulse beneath her skin, he remembered her weaker side. Seeming satisfied she wasn’t harmed, he relaxed. Athenna still hung onto her daggers, blundering them back into place. The trio rushed towards the main hall again.

Leliana, Bull, and Varric were fighting off the remaining monsters. Once they finished, they convened in front of the door.

“Surprised you lived, Cullen,” Leliana speculated.

“I wouldn’t call this ‘living’, Leliana” he responded curtly. Even when they are all half dead and mad, those two still managed to go for each other’s’ throats. Athenna unbelievably was able to roll her eyes before giving Dorian the shards. The door illuminated to them and slowly opened. She was surprised to find the Tevinter magister alone.

“Look at what you’ve done, Alexius,” Athenna shook as she spoke, anger fueling her words, “all this suffering, and for what?” Athenna demanded.

The magister barely turned to her, “For my country, for my son. But it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again, not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure,” he shuttered. Athenna clenched around her blades, just begging her brain to let her throw them into his chest and end his miserable life.

“Was it worth it?” Dorian spoke up next to her, “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now, all we can do is wait for the end,” he didn’t sound as intimidating as he should have. He was rather resolved in his fate, all their fates. It disgusted Athenna.

“It _does_ matter, I will undo this,” she spoke fiercely, regarding herself as high as she could. The man still did not turn.

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed. What have I brought? Ruin and death, there is nothing else! The Elder One comes for you, for me, for us all.” Felix grunted out to the side and Cullen was restraining him, his longsword to the boy’s throat.

“Felix!”

“ _That’s_ Felix? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?” Dorian demanded.

“He would have died, Dorian! I saved him,” he was half crazed, watching Cullen hold the blade closer to the boy’s neck.

He thrust his hand out. Cullen staggered back, “Release him!” her commander grunted out in pain. Athenna stepped forward, but Dorian caught her wrist tightly. This was it, she would have to kill him if he turned on them. Her heart stuttered in her chest brokenly. The world stopped as she watched Cullen’s expression turn violently defiant, committed.

“ _Never_ ,” he hissed, “you control me no longer,” his irises shined red, but his teeth were clenched struggling against the bending of his will.

After moments of struggling to regain control, the magister took his hand down. “Please,” he begged, “don’t hurt my son I’ll do anything you ask.” Cullen maintained a maniacal glare. He was beyond reason.

“You didn’t save him, Alexius,” she shouted, “ _No one_ should live like that,” Athenna looked to Cullen. He was already slicing Felix’s throat, a mercy killing.

“no,” he said softly, watching his son’s body fall to the ground, lifelessly, “No!” he yelled, stabbing his staff into the ground knocking Cullen off his feet. Thus the fight to save the past began.

* * *

“An hour?! Leliana shrieked, “That’s impossible, you must go _now_!” The ground shook as she spoke. A screeching could be heard from the outside. It sounds like the shrieks of the damned and it turned Athenna’s veins to ice.

Varric turned up towards the ceiling, “the Elder One,” he muttered. They didn’t have an hour, they barely had minutes. She had come so far, just to fall to this “Elder One.” She looked to Dorian in panic and back at her comrades. Bull and Varric exchanged a glance and nodded. Varric even smiled a little.

Bull stepped forward, “We’ll head outside, keep them off your tail,”

“No!” tears sprung from her eyes, “I can’t let you do this,” Dorian tried once more to pull her back, but she ripped away from him. None of it was fair.

Varric halted her with a gesture to stop her, “think of it as we’re going on a stroll through a demon infested meadow,” she cried out a laugh. They both began walking away.

Athenna was shaking her head, sobs breaking out of her chest. Leliana’s accent pulled her from her retreating friends.

“Look at us, we’re already dead. The only way we live is if we insure this day never comes, cast your spell,” she jutted her chin to Dorian. He nodded, and she turned towards the door, positioning herself, arrows ready. Dorian had already begun working the amulet. Athenna kept her eyes squeezed shut, forcing this reality as far from the truth as she could. It was a dream. All of it was a dream, she chanted. But when she opened them, it was all still there. They were all still going to die; Varric, Bull, Leliana…

Gloved hands found her cheeks, wiping tears. She shook her head, letting another sob rip in her chest. She couldn’t lose him too. “Hey, look at me,” Cullen’s irises were lit up with amber fire, she could barely see the red anymore, “stay back, and stay with Dorian, do you hear me?” his voice ignited, “go back in time. Go home, to haven, to the Inquisition,” he paused, pursing his lips, “to me,” he added at the last second. Her heart lifted in her chest at that idea; home, to her people. And not the Dalish. No. The Inquisition. She looked to him, a weak smile on her face, pining for his hand.

“Any last-minute advice, Commander?” she asked gently.  

He huffed a small chuckle and looked down, “just know, that I would follow you through the gates of the underworld and back,” he said earnestly, “no matter what you choose to do.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she promised.

He looked like he wanted to say something else but then decided against it, he just smiled crookedly at her. The building shook more, and he knew this was goodbye. She didn’t know what to say to him, what could she say to him? She wracked her brain for something, but nothing came to mind. He said nothing either, instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sensation. Nothing else was exchanged when he finally pulled away from her.

She watched him in a daze as he grasped his sword and shield, “stay with Dorian,” he ordered again. He stood by Leliana ready, back to being a soldier. Athenna retreated to her friend who was waiting on the steps. Dorian had the amulet glowing and floating between his hands. He glanced to Cullen and Leliana, and to her.

“Maker, you are one lucky woman,” Dorian whispered.

“This never happened,” Athenna hissed back.

“That’s the whole point, darling,” he defended himself.

It felt like hours before the doors started shaking with enemies on the other side. She saw Leliana stretched to ready an arrow in her bow, Cullen gripped his sword tighter. The door burst forward with soldiers and demons. Varric and Bull’s lifeless corpses were thrown to the side. Athenna’s breath caught in her throat as she watched her last two advisors both cut down their enemies.

She heard Leliana’s voice as she fought, _“Those who had been cast down, The demons who would be gods,”_ Cullen joined her as they chanted and fought, _“Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth,”_ an arrow struck into Leliana’s chest.  Athenna stepped forward but Dorian pulled her back.

“You move and you die!” Dorian yelled over the commotion. She watched in horror as the two were quickly overrun.

The chant continued, _“To the pretender-gods once more, And in return were given, in hushed whispers, The secr-”_ Leliana was put into a choke hold, the demon snapping her neck. Her spymaster fell limp on the floor. The portal opened behind them. _Please, creators, take me home, just take me home_ , Athenna prayed. Cullen’s scream made her nearly collapse, a demon had impaled his chest with its long sharp claws. The last thing she saw were her commander’s lifeless eyes, greyed out gold, staring into the ceiling.

“ _No!”_ she yelped before the scene made them completely disappear. Her cries were left in the distant future that would no longer exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to include Athenna's return to Haven but that also became too long for my liking. It seemed right that the whole mission could fit into a chapter's worth. I'm sorry if this is shorter, the next I promise to reach my usual word goal!


	5. Conflicting Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist  
> 1\. Keeping your Head Up- Birdy  
> 2\. The Burden of War- Immediate Music  
> 3\. Don’t Let Me Down- Joy Williams  
> 4\. The Volturi- Alexandre Desplat (4:00min-end)

Home. Vhenas. In her clan, home is wherever her people are. They were nomads, always moving from place to place. A year ago, her clan was her home. Now, it’s a town settled just beneath the mountains. Small. Quaint. A little place of peace. Her place in her world; her Haven. Where the people may not all know each other but they all had the same intentions. A strong heart beat inside of it too; the Inquisition. _Her_ Inquisition.

She didn’t know how she’d meet in the present now that she’d seen a dark future. She’d all but collapsed when she saw Leliana back to herself. She thanked her spymaster for her sacrifice, even if it wasn’t real anymore. She smiled at the Herald’s words and told her she’d do it again. In spite of those curt few months, their friendship had started to blossom in those small moments.  

Coming back from this journey was especially hard, having to maintain her calm demeanor in front of her people. Her chest tightened when she spotted Cullen standing at the edge of the frozen lake, arms clasped behind his back. He was clear of those hideous red lyrium shards. His hair was in its usual pristine curl, and his mantel rested comfortably upon his broad shoulders. As she got closer, she could see his irises, back to their normal golden hue, no sign of that awful red anywhere. If only he knew the surge of relief she felt when she saw him; a smile tugged on her lips. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw his own mouth stretch, complementing her smile with his. That wonderful sight of a cold metal melting into warmth, that same exact expression he’d blessed her with in her bedroom what she considered to be eons ago. It took everything for her not jump off her horse and throw her arms around him. He was safe, and for her that was enough.

It was established the breach would be sealed as soon as the rest of the mages arrived from the Hinterlands. It could take a few weeks at that rate. Athenna could not deny the pulse of the demonic energies in her fingers lately. They were not painful, but they were prominent. The intervals between the pulses were shortening at a scary rate. The Breach was getting bigger and they were all running out of time.

Thankfully when Athenna brought back some of the samples she snagged from fade demons from the darker future to Mineave, she was able to enchant a pair of gloves for the Herald. They would both silence the pulses as well as the burning sensations she experienced when closing the rifts. Athenna could not be happier with the results. It was one less thing off her plate even if it were so small.

Athenna knew it would take time to adjust to life again in Haven. She was quiet while her advisors resumed their daily arguments, thankfully finally agreeing that the moment the mages arrived, they would set a course of foot soldiers forward to the temple of sacred ashes. During the war council, she had a bare minimum of input. Cassandra had tried involving her multiple times, and even pulled her aside to ask what was wrong but she waved her off, claiming she was tired. It wasn’t a lie either, nightmares of Alexius’ world raged on during what was supposed to be her sleeping hours that night. More times than she can count did she wake up in a cold sweat, fists knotting her blankets, images of Cassandra slitting her own throat, Varric and Bull being overwhelmed by demons outside Redcliffe, herself being covered in red lyrium spores, and many others still flashed through her vision.

The first few times she tried going back to sleep but only ended up staring at her ceiling for what felt like agonizingly long hours. At one point, she frustratedly threw her blankets off, throwing a cloak over her night gown, gripping _Tales of the Champion_ , and stomping outside. If she stared at the same wooden lines above her, she would result to start ripping her hair out and frankly, she did enough of that already.

Her boots crunched into the snow of Haven, goosebumps rose in her arms and she rubbed her skin, hoping the friction would silence them; it didn’t. The tavern was already closed for the night and most of the town was dark. She could go hunt but she truly didn’t feel like walking back to her cabin to throw on her armor and grab her daggers from the smith.

Instead, Athenna found herself walking to the chantry. The doors creaked painstakingly loud when she opened them. She winced when it also scraped closed, waiting for the echo of the sleep interrupting noises to fade. The hall was dark beside a few candles that were too stubborn to die with the call of the night. She was not so sure what to do until her feet carried her to the door at the end of the hall. Her fingers gripped on the cold metal of the door, “unbelievable that my insomnia would bring me here,” she mumbled before pushing it open to the dark war room. Fortunately, she was able to shut the war room door with a soft click, “oh Elgar’nan, ma serannas,” she whispered. Just because she couldn’t sleep doesn’t mean she should wake up the whole chantry.

Athenna lit a few candles and curled into one of the larger chairs on the far end of the room; the giant map of Thedas facing her upside down. While that very space was so loud and frustrating during the day, it slept with the night; quiet and peaceful. Athenna took that moment to just breathe, letting the sheer gift of silence grace her in soft, sweet nothingness. She hugged her cloak, burying herself in warmth, pushing more of the nightmares behind her. Her fingers found where she had left off, the very last chapter. Hawke and company were facing off with Meredith after defeating Orsino.

Athenna had to admit she was surprised at the first enchanter’s actions, using blood magic when all else failed. She pursed her lips while reading, is that truly what disparity brought on? Conjuring one’s self into something so heinous and vile that could destroy all of Kirkwall, just for the sake that it would be free of the templars? How was it no better than the knight commander’s rite of tranquility? Would Hawke have chosen differently if he knew that was what Orsino would do? Were mages genuinely no better than the templars? Her own decisions forested doubts in her contemplations. She shook off the doubts, treating it as Hawke did, she had made her decision and now she must live with it.

_Hawke smirked at Meredith’s words, carrying the weight of the knight commander’s full haunted gaze as if it were a pin prick, “I imagine you’ve wanted to be rid of me for some time.” The woman barely reacted to his words, scoffing at the champion._

_“I bare you no ill will. You’ve done this to yourself,” she explained, a light smile on her face. She would be rid of Hawke, no matter what side he had chosen, “you are no mage, but in supporting them, you’ve elected the same fate,” she narrowed her eyes, set in her decision._

_Hawke could just barely get his words out before Knight-Captain Cullen stepped up, “Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the champion,” he was confused and his tone worried._

_She turned her piercing scrutiny on her right-hand man, “You will do as I command, Cullen,” she hissed. The templar stood now in defiance, disgust crossing his features. It seemed Cullen was unaware how deep Meredith’s corruption ran._

_“No,” He shook his head, knitting his brows together, “I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad, but this is too far,” Hawke observed, watching the two in reserve as the one templar who wouldn’t dare defy the Order, stood against his own Knight-Commander._

_Meredith’s anger erupted as she unsheathed a sword but not just any blade. It burned the glow of an angry red. The weapon hummed as she thrust it into the direction of Cullen, “I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!” she screamed._

_“Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks…” I muttered, coming to my own realization of what the glowing red was. I looked to Hawke and found his eyes widen at the answer to his own questions. That damned idol we had hoped long forgotten…_

_Her grin became wicked, giddy from her thirst for power finally being satiated, “You recognize it, do you not?” she caressed the sword, admiring its beauty, “Pure lyrium, taken from the deep roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize.” The deep roads expedition had finally come full circle. The last of the mysteries was solved; who better to buy the red lyrium idol other than the most power-hungry psychopath in all of Kirkwall?_

_Despite the severity of the situation, the Champion remained his usual calm stature, “It’s a lot more sword-like than I remember,” he jested._

_Meredith’s temper flared, swinging the blade amongst her templars, “All of you! I want him dead!” she shrieked._

_“Enough!” Cullen’s voice roared through the gallows. Hawke’s jaw dropped, “This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down,” he now stood in authority rather than submission, “I relieve you of your command,” he declared with finality. She faltered in her steps around her men and shot her glare back at him, enraged at his betrayal. Cullen rebelled her, his resolve was unbreakable._

_“My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic,” she looked from Cullen to the templars, “you all have! You’re all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!” The lyrium shrieked with the veering of the sword, her madness only building. “But I don’t need any of you,” she pointed it at Hawke who only stuttered back a step-in defense, he was already reaching for his dual blades, “I will protect this city myself,” she bellowed, firing back at the Champion. Hawke unsheathed his swords, the crack of his infamous smile venturing on his lips, he had been waiting a long time to fight her._

_He looked to Cullen who had also unsheathed his own blade, holding it out, “You’ll have to go through me.”_

The loud creak of the war room door gave Athenna a jolt with a gasp. It had been so peaceful, she had been immersed in the finale of the Champion’s story completely. She nearly forgotten where she was.

“Maker’s breath, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” Cullen’s voice nearly gave her another jolt. She had just been hearing him reading the words in her ears. It’s so very rare how often a character from a book can walk through the door at the same time he was being read about. Athenna placed the book page side down, placing a hand over her pulse, hoping it would calm soon. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Cullen was out of his armor, dawning a long sleeved white cotton shirt and breeches with boots. His hair was disheveled and eyes tired. He held a lantern and a few reports. Was he…planning on working in there? At this hour?

“Cullen?” she asked breathlessly, “what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” his tone was curious.

“Right now, I’m currently trying to restart my heart,” she took a deep breath, her pulse was still beating rapidly under her palm. He apologized again but she huffed a nervous laugh. She watched him relax at the sound. He found the book and recognition crossed his expression.

“You’re almost to the end,” he observed. She couldn’t read his expression; it was steeled, unreadable. He looked at the ground for a long moment before returning to her, “What part are you to?” he asked nervously.

She smiled faintly and pushed the volume across the table to him. He set down the lantern and parchments before picking up the book. She watched his gold irises dissect the pages, dancing left to right as he read. His mouth tugged to the side, not a smile nor a frown. He rested his gaze on a part of the page, eyebrows furrowing.

“You stood up to her,” Athenna muttered. He looked back to her and she expected a scowl.

Instead, he softened, “of course I did,” he was gentle. It warmed her that he did not look upon her as he had been. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her that way since she left. She struggled trying to imagine Cullen standing against Meredith, his own leader, the woman he bloody looked up to. The Cullen in the book was bound to his duty, to the templars, and he just…cast them aside when the going got tough. But the other side was no better.

“But…Orsino was wrong…” her brain was trying to comprehend the end of the story.

“Meredith wasn’t right,” Cullen replied, “I’m not going to say Hawke _was_ right, but he had to pick a side,” he shrugged.

“Neither side was right. There was no right decision,” she ruffled her fingers through her hair, down from its signature ponytail. She realized how the conflict in the book very well reflected her own. She brought the mages in as allies because of her feelings towards slavery. Hawke sided with the mages in Kirkwall because he wanted to save his sister. She looked down at her naked palm, the mark was still but a white scar. Cullen had walked around the table and slowly approached her. He passed her back the book, their fingers grazing just like with the map what seemed like a lifetime ago. Instead this time, she didn’t avert her stare, but looked up at him. He still had a restful expression, and her breath hitched. He even smiled a little.

“The Order is no longer what I believe it to be,” he murmured, “It grew and mutated with Meredith’s chaos. It was turned into something monstrous, something I could never be part of again.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted her softly, leaning against the table, he was being earnest, “perhaps it’s because I wanted to save the good templars, the ones who believed in what I did. We wanted to serve to protect, not fear to kill,” he hung his head closing his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose again. She then only noticed the dark purple circles that hung underneath. He was fighting his own demons all alone, and she fought him the entire time. It made her sick to her stomach. “I was lost for a time until Cassandra found me. I still don’t even know how to thank her,” he whispered. He had hidden a lot of pain from everyone, and he was still hiding it then from her. She had shut him out because of the only beliefs he knew. How could she have been so despicable?

“Not all mages are good,” she admitted quietly, looking at his pained face. Her fingers gripped onto his forearm that had been crossed to his side. He woke up more in surprise. She hesitantly slid her fingers to meet his. It was calloused but warm. “And not all templars are bad…you’re proof of that.” His palm was rather big and closed nearly all the way around hers. How elated she was to see his smile return, knowing this was her present. This was the second chance she fought for. Her eyes fluttered closed, their fight in that very same room had happened only a few weeks before. She flinched at the nasty and vile things that had come out of her mouth. It hurt her worse because at the time she meant them. “Cullen,” she beckoned, opening her vision to his. He raised a brow curiously, “I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I was berating you for old prejudices and digging mine up in the process,” she shuttered softly, dispelling guilty tears from leaving the confines of her broken soul. Surprisingly, he took his other hand and placed it on top of hers, holding her one between both of his.

“And I’m sorry, Herald,” he spoke with honeyed words, “I was wrong not to trust you. I was wrong to hurt you,” he hesitated before continuing, “I want you to know that while I don’t have hope in the Order anymore, I do have hope in the Inquisition,” He leaned closer to her and his scent wafted into her nose, “and in you.”

Her heart fluttered, her emotions that she had pushed back from the dark future arising. Her fingers tightened in his, ousting them the best she could. Who knew that Cullen, of all people, would be her anchor to reality? “Thank you.” They stood in each other’s company for a few minutes, fading into the nightfall that had crept into the war room. As if reluctantly, he released her and she already felt colder from the absence. She wasn’t sure if it were the low light of the room or her lack of sleep, but she could have sworn she was seeing her commander blush.

“You, uh…still never told me why you came here,” she mumbled to him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he reached over for the reports and lantern, “You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping, and our work is never done,” he lifted one of the parchments, looking back on the table, absently twisting one of the pieces between his fingers.

“You have trouble sleeping?” she asked. That would explain the bags under his eyes.

“Nothing to be concerned with, Herald, I promise,” he shrugged, his tone turned passive. It was the same one he used when they had war councils, pushing aside any attempts at casual conversation. She huffed, at least he knew how to pass the time. She looked back down at her book, reading the very last couple pages. Besides the occasional echo of Cullen settling a piece on the map, the room was as quiet as before.

Hawke was never seen again after defeating Meredith. His current whereabouts were a mystery. The war between the mages and templars exploded throughout Thedas. In all that time, she was with her clan. She had no idea any of it was happening. Not until the Keeper had found her one night and spoke with her privately. He gave her a summary of the war and an assignment; to watch the peace talks between the templars and mages at the Conclave. It was an honor to her that the keeper entrusted so much. Why wouldn’t he though? She was one of the clan’s strongest and stealthiest hunters. It was there that it all began.

She closed the book softly and stared at the flames of the lantern, watching the fire dance against the shadows. Amongst the silence of the room, warmth from her blanket, and, if she were being honest, Cullen’s calm presence, sometime in between she had shut her eyes and let the fade take her. No more dreams hurt her that night, no more ghastly images that no longer existed. All she felt was the sweet embrace of sleep that she had been long missing since before the journey to Redcliffe, maybe even before the Conclave.

Daybreak woke her gently in her cabin, the sun greeted her a peaceful good morning. The distant clashing of swords and excited chatters of the townsfolk filled her room. She sat up slowly, still reeling in the shock of a good night’s sleep. The cloak she had worn was nestled on her lap, _Tales of a Champion_ was across the room on her desk, and her boots were still on her feet under the blankets. Athenna raised an eyebrow, she usually hung up her cloak on the peg by her door and she never wore her boots to bed. _Curious_. She searched her mind for memories of getting up from the war room and walking back to her cabin but nothing. All she remembered was the end of the story, the sound of quietness, and the color gold.

* * *

“Wait…. you’re not afraid of the undead, are you, Herald?” Scout Harding asked with a mischievous smile. Of course, she would find it amusing, the dwarves have certainly seen their fair share living underground. The Fallow Mire was too silent for anyone’s liking. The initial scouts who set up camp found they were not alone; their zombie neighbors had decided to pay a visit more than a few times. Harding stood by with her bow still attached to her back, as smiley as if she were in a meadow. Athenna did her best not to fidget at her words. She had never even seen the undead before. How could she fear what she had never known?

Still, Athenna puffed out a feigned chuckle, “please, Lace, I’ve tackled demons without batting an eyelash,” she waved her off, admiring one of her new blades that Harritt had made. Her finger trailed along the side; it could slice off the skin of a darkspawn perfectly if she really tried. “I think Bull would be more scared than me,” she said loud enough for her Qunari friend to hear from across the camp.

“ _Demons_ , boss! I don’t like demons!” he corrected, lacing on his boots, “undead are fun! You slice them down and they just keep coming back for more,” he sounded hungry underneath his evil smirk. The Herald shivered, shaping her knives together, hoping they could become impossibly sharper after their trip to the smithy.

“To be honest, Herald, a fear of the undead is kind of mundane sounding for someone of your status,” Varric chimed from next to Harding, already prepared for their mission.

“Well, nobody’s perfect. As long as they die when I kill them,” She muttered and stomped through the mud to gaze at the foggy path before them.

“Very eloquent choice of words. May I quote you?” Dorian laughed as he strode to her side. Bull also approached with a grin. It was going to be a long journey through the bogs.

“Come on guys, can we please just go get our people?” she asked, already exhausted with the teasing.

“Lead the way,” Varric gestured. Athenna sucked in a deep breath. She beat back her fears before forcing her feet to move one foot in front of the other. Like the camp, the rest of the bogs were quiet, not much undead to speak of. Still with the fog and dead of night, it was enough to keep the Herald on her toes. A few abandoned houses sat along the waters. She looted them, keeping her mind on picking locks and reading forgotten letters of long passed souls. The taunts from her squad had ceased once they got to work.

The most sound came from Dorian who occasionally groaned when they sloshed through a puddle that was too deep. No matter where they went, the man always found something to complain about. Her boots were already soaked through her socks, nothing stayed dry for long in the Mire.

The caravan made it to some unstable looking docks that rose a solid few feet above. Gulping down her distress, she started climbing the latter, her gloves slipping against the slippery rungs. She heard her fellows struggling as well. She took her time, climbing deliberately. Eventually the group made it up to the docks in one piece. They went down little ways before tapering off to land again. Once all of them were on the dock, Athenna started moving again, the wood creaked painfully beneath her feet; as if it could give out any moment. She strained to look ahead, but she couldn’t make out anything other than the end of the docks.

There were sounds coming from the water. Nothing large enough lived in the bogs to make those noises… _yes, lived_ , the Herald thought dryly. Still she paused in her tracks. Her companions had learned in those first few months of adventuring how much their leader would randomly stop and observe her surroundings. Usually, it meant she found something.

“Your elf senses tingling?” Varric remarked quietly.

Athenna snorted but didn’t respond. She walked closer to the edge of the docks, looking towards the sounds in the waters but she still couldn’t find anything. It wasn’t as if they were being followed, she would have backtracked to their pursuer. No, this was different, probably worse in fact. It wasn’t that they were being followed, it was that they were _surrounded_. Her heart thumped unevenly in her chest, dread prickled the hairs up on her arms. She could just barely make out something in the midst of the fog; a figure. She couldn’t even make out a shape. She squinted, taking another hesitant half step over the dock. What was that thing?

A pair of large hands slammed down on her shoulders, “Hey, boss!” Bull hollered suddenly from behind her. Athenna jumped, an unnaturally high-pitched squeal erupted from her lungs. The Qunari burst into laughter but the Herald had lost her balance from the initial scare. Dorian and Varric rushed to her side but it was too late, she fell into the marsh beneath the docks. It was shallow, but she was still submerged. She thrust herself to the surface and gagged on the water that rushed down her throat and up her nose. It was cold, salty, and slimy. Despite all her time bathing in random streams and using the forest as her own washroom, she had wanted nothing to do with all that disgusting bog water. She had already gotten enough of it soaked into her boots.

Her comrades were already off the docks, at the edge of the water ready to help when Athenna noticed what she was trying to look for. The figure looked human or elf? She couldn’t tell but…it limped through the bogs, each wave caused it to nearly topple over. It…had no eyes or nose…it was by all means of the word; soulless. Undead. Panic startled the Herald to her feet but tripped through the water and backed into something cold. She turned expecting it to be one of the wooden poles of the dock but instead another of the undead, breathing its frigid breaths down her neck. Athenna gasped, quickly pining for her daggers but they were not in their holsters. The zombie groaned at her and she let out a small shriek before sending her fist into its face. The force pulled its head to the side. She watched in horror as it slowly turned back to her, holding up its bow to her.

Before she could react, a metal bolt sent it into the water. Varric had pulled out Bianca. Dorian started to send fireballs across the lake. She uselessly looked for her daggers, they could be _anywhere_ , and they couldn’t afford the trip back to camp. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” she cursed in common, feeling through the slick mud of the bog. The sound of another bolt shooting into a body on her right made her stand up. More of the undead had tuned into her location, she counted five surrounding her. Bull had also gotten into the water to fight out the approaching zombies. There were too many in such little time. There had only been one when she initially fell into the bogs. When her group started helping, more showed. But none of the zombies had been there before.

“Guys, get out of the water!” Athenna shrieked, “they can’t see you, they can only hear you!”

“ _Shit!_ ” Bull shouted. He chopped the head off the one zombie with his giant maul, retreating to the shore. Dorian happily backed away from the receding water. Varric was already at the shore’s edge. Athenna gripped one of her swords under the water. Another guttural moan sounded next to her. She laughed nervously and sliced an x over the thing’s face. It stumbled back but didn’t react to her parry. She still searched for its partner.

“Athenna, come back here!” Dorian shouted. Fire blazed over her shoulder and at the zombie. It had tried approaching her again. Its body burst into flames and disintegrated. She could spot two more in her immediate vision and used it as a timer.

“Come on, come on,” Athenna growled, her rifled fingers were still lacking success. She grunted in frustration. Her left hand burned with the feeling. Green illuminated the bottom of the bog. “Hmmm,” she hummed. She concentrated all her focus on the mark, trying to will magic through her veins to her palm. Something she had certainly never done before. The familiar sound of the fade breaking to reality emerged from the waters. Something shined a little farther into the bog. Athenna quickly sloshed through the waves, and dove under once more, retrieving her other dagger. She emerged violently, moss slid down her cheek. She sucked in a breath. Before she could regain herself, an outlier of the group began hitting her with its fist.

The elf snarled in response and struck her one sword into its chest. Using that arm as an anchor, she swiped her other dagger through its neck. The zombie’s head dropped into the bog which created a narrow indent and splash.

Athenna shuttered while it still tried to grab her, “Oh for the love of all of that is her huntership, Adruil, Dorian, will you please just set it aflame?!” she shrieked. Almost instantaneously, a fireball hit the body and stopped its attempts on her life. Athenna didn’t think, only fought through the heavy swamp to get to shore. A chorus of moans was behind her, then she remembered her tricks inside her sash. She had been saving them, but it seems she needs them more now. Athenna clutched a few of sharpened jacks and threw that at the undead. While they were disoriented, Dorian set them on fire, their carcasses dissipating into ash.

Just as she reached the edge, something freezing grabbed at her ankle. Athenna gasped and was dragged under the water. The Herald let out a yelp and her arms flapped uselessly to escape her assailant. The bog was in her nose, and her throat burned with the salt. She gasped desperately above the water for breaths but was forced back in. Terror caused her to go limp, there was no way out, this is how it ended.

Instead, something large grasp her from the water and catapult her through the air. Athenna screamed again but was received by smaller hands and landed on a body. The air rushed out of Dorian’s chest when he caught her. He had cradled her protectively before letting her get up. The mage groaned and let himself fall back into the mud, resolved his hair was ruined anyway.

“Sorry, Dorian,” the Herald exclaimed breathlessly, he whimpered. Did she really weigh that much? Athenna frowned and looked down at her flat stomach.

Iron Bull’s cry bought Athenna’s attention back towards the marsh. He had ripped one of the undead in half above his horns. “Come on!” he beckoned with his arms to the small militia of the monsters, “WHO ELSE WANTS A PIECE OF THE IRON BULL, HUH?!” his voice boomed across the mire. Athenna joined Dorian, letting her hair cushion itself against the mud, catching her breaths.

“Should we go get him?” Varric’s face appeared above her, upside down.

“No,” she hissed, “make him work for it,” she closed her eyes, letting the adrenaline settle down. She was going to have a few words with that damned Qunari. Until then, she needed a dry blanket. Who knew one simple thing could be such a commodity in this sodding marsh.


	6. Underneath the Fiery Hearth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist  
> 1\. Hourglass- Zedd (Feat. LIZ)  
> 2\. Any Other Name- Thomas Newman  
> 3\. Gasoline- Halsey  
> 4\. Ship to Wreck- Florence and the Machine

Josephine was usually always on top of her schedule. The breach grew stronger with the Inquisition. The day the Herald returned from her trip to Redcliffe, her mark lit up and she let out a weak grunt. The breach could not be ignored much longer but there was still a lot to do.

Later that week she left for the mire, at Cullen’s behest of the subject time and time again. The Herald finally obliged him, that way she could also do some last-minute recruiting in time for the rest of the mages to arrive in Haven. Josephine did object to the sudden leave of the Herald so soon after her return, but she cut off Josie, striking her small dagger into the mire. Something about the way she looked to her ambassador was off; it was not defiant or resigned as it would be when she made a final decision of where to go, it was fear. She seemed as if she had seen not just one ghost but a world of them. Bags were settled underneath her faded violet irises. She was pale, sunken. It scared Josephine. Cassandra did her best to lift the Herald’s spirit, but she dismissed her, claiming she was just tired. Both Josie and Cassandra knew better but they also knew better than to poke at her any further.

Athenna gave the bare minimum run down of what she and Dorian saw in the dark future, as in she gave the important details; the assassination of the empress, the failure of the Inquisition, the unchecked “elder one,” and the strong presence of red lyrium. As Cullen began bombarding her with questions regarding the substance, she watched Athenna shrink, shying away from not just the questions but Cullen himself. For once, the commander restrained himself from further probing. She ended the council early and left without another word. Dorian was also in the room; his expression was dark when he watched her leave.

 _“Ser Dorian,”_ Josephine called to him before he left. Cullen was still as a pin next to her and Leliana was gathering herself to leave. _“There has to be something you both aren’t telling us,”_ she had to admit her curiosity peaked in the most inappropriate way possible. She didn’t wish to harm the Herald with probing questions as Cullen did, but she had never seen her look so defeated. Josephine was also betrayed by her own curiosity of what happened to herself in the future.

Dorian stared back at the Herald’s now empty spot, a sad smile weaving through his lips, _“I believe that’s Athenna’s story to give. We have told you what you needed to know. The rest she will share once the memories cease their hauntings,”_ he sounded hollow. It sent chills down Josie’s spine. He looked to them all, turning polite, _“Good day,”_ he nodded and took his leave.

It didn’t take a smart person to have an idea of what horrors the two saw. Leliana gave warning to her and Cullen when they returned that the Herald was not herself. While she did keep up her appearances with the mages, she let it go when in the safe space of her companions. She was simply in a rut that she, herself, would need to dig out of. She assured them she would send more agents to keep an eye on her; make sure her mental state was sound. Josephine relaxed a little for she worried about the elf on her journeys.

Leliana left and Cullen typically loitered. He kept gazing at Athenna’s piece, the dagger struck in the Fallow Mire. He walked to her spot as usual to get a better view of the map. Josephine was one to leave after Leliana though, but she watched the commander instead. The hand not on his sword leaned on the table next to the dagger. His eyebrows furrowed. Was he worried?

 _“Should I have stopped her?”_ he asked softly.

Cullen was always happy to push work onto the Herald and she took it without complaint every time. It was the one constant of their relationship; of all their relationships. The Herald was never overworked and if she was, it was nothing she could not handle. It made her happy to help.

 _“There are still loose ends to tie and the mages have yet to arrive,”_ Josephine shrugged, _“I think Athenna would welcome any distraction she could get.”_

His face twisted slightly but she didn’t recognize it. _“Are you two alright considering the…?”_ Josephine trailed off, referring to their spat. She was the only person who knew of it. Cullen burst through the door of her office afterwards, locking it behind him, and ranted like a madman. She knew this was coming but never expected a screaming match. Once he finished, he looked deflated and then guilty. Josephine talked him down and used her calming words. When his head fell into his hands, she knew they would make up eventually, even if it was not until the Herald returned once again.

 _“Maker, I hope so,”_ he sighed. They still failed reconciled, _“I’m just…relieved she’s back safe.”_ He appeared relieved when he said the words.

 _“Were you actually worried?”_ Josephine raised an eyebrow.

He huffed a small chuckle, _“I’m not made of stone, Ambassador.”_ He certainly wasn’t. The animosity between them only grew the weeks before, their conversations were short and curt. She began feeling helpless, they would hate each other, and the Inquisition would suffer for it. But when Athenna entered the war room, Cullen was the first to greet her. She lifted from her exhausted gloom and came to life if only just a little bit. It warmed Josephine to see the Herald’s mental wounds were not permanent.  

 _“So, you do have a heart,”_ Josephine giggled despite herself. She was pleased things were starting to turn around.

The creak of the war room door brought Josie out of her memories, “Sorry, I’m late,” The Herald arrived then, dawning her black cloak. She failed to pull her hood up and snowflakes were now stuck to her hair like a shower of tiny white ornaments. She hung up her cloak, ruffling her blonde locks rid of the snow. She appeared different today; she was wearing a blue button-down cotton blouse with brown trousers, how very casual. She got right down to business, reading her own pieces, digging out her dagger from the mire.

“Thank you again for your help in the bogs, my lady,” Cullen murmured quietly. He watched her return her dagger to its respected goblet. 

“Nobody gets left behind,” Athenna replied.

The council began then. They were usually quiet in the beginning as the Herald read her reports. It was a lot of thinking time. The bags under her eyes were less now and she stood up straighter. It gave Josephine some hope that her worship was feeling better. Perhaps fighting the undead was exactly what she needed.

Cullen began, “Herald, we’ve already sent scouts ahead to the temple of sacred ashes to ensure there are no threats, the mages arrived not too long ago-”

“Your hair looks nice today, Herald,” Leliana quirked for the first time that day. Cullen turned to glower at her for the nonsense. Josephine noticed it too, that was the difference! The Herald wasn’t dawning her signature ponytail. She had never seen it before. It waved little ways down to her shoulders but for the most part. The color was the same as sunshine. She was less of a warrior and more a person. Athenna blushed, twisting a finger in her locks. She muttered quiet thanks.

Cullen cleared his throat, “As I was saying-”

“Yes, I do agree. Is that its natural color?” Josephine asked curiously.

“Captain Rylen has notified me of-”

 “How do you get it to be so straight but with the slight curls?” Leliana chimed while she set down her papers.

The commander threw his hands up in the air with a disgruntled sigh. Athenna’s one eyebrow shot up when she stared at the two other women in the room, “You two sound like the hens in Val Royeaux.”

“You’re wearing your hair down, so I just happened to notice,” Leliana shrugged, their productive atmosphere all but out the window. Out of the corner of her eye, Josephine watched Cullen shoot a glance up at the Herald; it seems he failed to notice too. He maintained his scowl, but a traitorous pink painted his cheeks.

“Is there a dress code I should know about?” Athenna mused. 

“No, my lady, not at all!” Josephine jumped in, “Just womanly curiosity is all.”

The Herald exhaled sharply, twirling her tiny piece, “Yes, I’m a natural blonde. This is the way my hair is. It was usually pin straight in the free marches but frizzed with the humidity. The curl comes from the constant cold temperature down here. Its easily to maintain but I cannot do a thing with it,” she sounded scripted, monotoned. She’d heard this question many times before.

“We can certainly find something to do with it now that Madame de Fer is with us,” Josephine replied, already conjuring up ideas to keep up with her worship’s appearances especially when meeting the Orlesian diplomats. They will just fawn all over her and she won’t have to say a word. Josephine and Leliana exchanged mischievous glances to each other.

“The one day I lose my bloody hairband,” Athenna grumbled.

“You should wear it down more often,” Leliana chirped. Her stone-cold demeanor meant nothing when it came to fashion statements.

“For the sake of you two gawking at me, I’ll pass. I get enough staring outside,” she muttered, gathering a report. Her cheeks were a dark shade of crimson now.

Cullen let out a breath in relief, “Now that that’s over with, we should be able to close the breach in a matter of days-”

“Commander, wouldn’t you say the Herald looks nice? You’ve been so quiet,” Leliana exclaimed with a playful smirk. Cullen inhaled in a deeply, his former blush returning. He glared at the spymaster, just demanding her to drop the subject. Leliana remained amused but stoic. She gestured to the Herald who now hung her head over the report. Cullen turned towards the elf, completely flushed.

“Herald,” he sounded strained. Josephine subdued a giggle.

“Commander,” she responded, she sounded incredibly tiny. The red was spreading throughout her entire face. Leliana was just as diabolical with embarrassing her comrades as she was with her spying. The two women grinned at each other.

“I-…ah… think you look very…nice…t-today,” He stammered, skirting his gaze from the scene. Josephine watched him clutch the pommel of his sword tighter. Athenna peaked up at him in disbelief. He saw her expression after a few moments of silence and nearly jumped, “N-not that you don’t look nice every day! I mean that was-…and you are-…and I-- Oh, maker,” he smacked his hand against his forehead. Athenna ducked down again, grasping one of the reports to her chest.

“I think…that’s enough war council for today-” She began to back away, avoiding the unwanted attention from all her advisors.

“Herald-” Cullen stuttered again, taking a step forward.

“We close the breach within the week, we’ll continue this tomorrow,” Athenna stumbled from the weight of her cloak that was wet from the melted snow, “Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to plunge myself into the snow, dismissed,” she escaped without a moment’s hesitation.

* * *

“Always a pleasure, Herald,” Flissa greeted her as she sat down. Her blush did not ceased its mocking flames against her cheeks. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Cullen, stuttering as he was forced to compliment her appearance. The awkwardness sat on her chest like a cow. But it wasn’t so awkward that she pushed the thoughts from her mind, it was worse. She let the images linger for how endearing she found it. “What can I get for you?”

“Something, anything that can make me forget my name,” Athenna slid into her arms.

Flissa chuckled, “Bad day, huh?” she asked, her voice was facing the other way, preparing her beverage.

“I’d rather deal with the zombies again,” the clanking of glasses and liquid pouring made Athenna’s ears perk up. The bartender slid the drink over to her. A pack of snow was settled at the top of the glass of brown liquid.

“Brandy on the rocks, my lady,” Flissa announced. Thank the creators.

“I’m glad you take my sorrows seriously, Flissa,” she took a gulp of the liquor. The drink happily burned her throat in the process. Athenna shuttered off the reaction it gave, relishing in its warmth at the same time, “I’m going to need about ten more of these,” she commented.

The human laughed, “in due time, your worship, finish what you started,” she wagged her finger. Athenna groaned, taking the rest of the drink in stride. She thumped the glass back on the counter. She never did drink much until she joined the Inquisition. Once she started seeing how messed up the rest of Thedas was, even without the breach, she needed to take a break. She had never truly been drunk before however. “Sera! The usual?” Flissa perked.

The elf sat down next to Athenna, “You know me so well,” she mused. The barkeep landed a large tankard of ale in front of Sera and she grinned. “Hey,” Flissa placed a new glass in front of Athenna, less ice, more liquor. The Herald smirked grimly, “what’s eating you?”

“The damned shemlen that’s what,” Athenna drawled her honest words with alcoholic confidence.

“Remember who’s serving your drink, my lady,” Flissa warned.

“Except you, Flissa, you’re wonderful,” Athenna downed half the drink. The room felt increasingly warmer since she sat down. The woman grinned and began pouring the shots into waiting glasses. She knew the drill, as she did with many soldiers who came into the tavern day in and day out.

Sera snorted, “I never thought I’d see you snockered out.”

“Hope you enjoy the view,” Athenna hiccupped, “Ara seranna-ma” she muttered.

“Quit being so elfy,” Sera nearly scolded, taking a gulp of ale.

Athenna smiled lazily at her, “Ir Abelas,” she apologized.

Sera threw her hands up and grunted, “prick.” Athenna chuckled, sipping her drink instead. “We should make this more fun,” Sera chimed.

“What do you mean?”

“The humans play a game called ‘never have I ever’, have you heard of it?” Athenna shook her head, “well basically, it’s like this: I say something I’ve never done but if you have done it, you take a drink, yeah? And we take turns, its more fun in a group though…” she trailed off.

“I’m really not in the mood for more company, Sera,” Athenna grumbled.

“A few more of those and you won’t care, sit tight!” She hopped off the stool. The Herald stagnated her sips, awaiting her friend’s return. A few minutes later, Sera burst through the door with Bull and Dorian in tow. Athenna groaned and shoved her face in her arms again. She was still slightly annoyed at Bull for what happened in the mire.

“Come on, boss, you know a lady never drinks alone!” Bull hollered in her ear. She turned up to glare at him. He grinned and sat on the other side of Sera.

“I’m still mad at you!” Athenna exclaimed halfheartedly.

“Sure, you are,” Bull countered with sarcasm.

Dorian sat next to Athenna, ordering a glass of wine. The mage patted her back, “anything you want to talk about, love?”

“Nope”

“I have one job and that’s to get the Herald shitfaced!” Sera yodeled, “let’s start, yeah?!” Bull ordered something in Qunari and amazingly Flissa knew what it was; the woman was good, Athenna gave her that. On cue, she set yet another drink down in front of Athenna. The voice of her conscience screamed in her mind to knock it off, she was better than this. The squawking silenced when she took a gulp of the brandy again.

“Easy there, Herald, we haven’t started yet!” Sera exclaimed.

“I’ll start!” Bull roared, “Never have I ever…been kicked out of a tavern.”

“Oh piss,” Sera drank some of her ale.

Dorian also drank, Athenna’s eyes went wide. She couldn’t see the usual pristine Dorian Pavus getting kicked out of a bar. He saw her expression and sighed, “It’s more of I just wanted a drink and my mother found me. She nearly dragged me out by my ear. Same concept I believe.” Athenna snorted, thanking creators she was never a noble.

“It’s hard to believe you’ve never been kicked out, Bull,” Athenna raised her eyebrow at him skeptically.

“Most inns I’ve been to have barkeeps only half my size. I doubt they’d argue,” his teeth bared beneath his grin, they were sharp and quite terrifying. Athenna now saw the logic.

“My turn!” Sera sang next to her, “Never have I ever said the wrong name during sex,” she snorted.

Dorian stilled, not drinking. Bull happily downed some of his ale, or whatever it was. Athenna remained as well. She only ever had sex with one other person in her clan, and he was the only one she really had feelings for. They all gawked at Bull. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said.

“What a load of crap,” Sera snorted.

“To be fair, she wasn’t expecting a man’s name to come out of my mouth,” he bellowed a laugh. Athenna snorted now.

“Your turn, Herald!”

Athenna gnawed on her lip and shrugged, “never have I ever been slapped,” They all drank, “Really?” Athenna asked. They all nodded and laughed.

“That’s an easy one, elfy,” Sera sang.

* * *

The small group of four grew a couple drinks later. Varric joined in on the game with a pint of ale. Blackwall just sat in amused observation. Athenna just thanked her stars none of her advisors decided to show up. She was very warm and rather belchy. She burped a solid fifteen times since the drinking began and her hiccups were a constant. Their spirits were high with the game and Athenna successfully drank away her embarrassment.

So, this is what it was like to be drunk; why had she been so worried? It was a blast. She also found she couldn’t stop giggling at one point, even though no one was saying anything remotely funny.

“Boss,” Bull huffed, “Boss- no boss, listen…listen,” he slurred.

Athenna was leaning on Dorian, who was less drunk, but still had an arm slung over her, she giggled again, “what, Bull?”

“Can I just say…” he trailed off and stared in another direction, but there was nothing there. Sera snapped her fingers in front of Bull and jumped slightly from the gesture, “what was I saying?”

“Something about a boss,” Athenna garbled into her glass.

“OH RIGHT, Boss!...Can I just say…” Athenna coughed a laugh, and they all started laughing again, “Guys, no, guys listen!” Bull threw his arms up, nearly hitting Blackwall. The warden quirked a smile at the Qunari. “Can I just say….” He tried for the third time, “how fucking adorable your laugh is?” Bull snickered.

They all hooted, including Athenna who all but lost her balance. Dorian and Sera caught her clumsily and steadied her on the chair again. The room was beginning to spin, and she didn’t care. “Me? _Noooo_ ,” she bustled.

“Oh yeah, Spidey, I agree,” chimed Varric, the least drunk one in the game sadly enough, “that sound could melt quite a few hearts.”

“ _What?_ No guys _, nooo_ , I sound like a demented druffalo,” she snorted. They all cooed at her, “stop that!” she squealed.

“I know who’s heart it could melt the most,” Dorian gabbed with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I certainly,” Athenna stopped to hiccup, “have no idea who you’re speaking of.”

“Oh, oh, I forgot it was my turn!” Varric chimed in.

“We’re still playing?” Sera called from the ground beneath the bar.

“This is a good one, I swear,” Varric paused for dramatic effect before continuing, “Never have I ever… pictured a certain commander butt ass naked,” the dwarf grinned despite himself.

Dorian finished his drink, “I don’t even feel guilty.” It wasn’t hard to believe that one anyway. Athenna would have blushed if she wasn’t so red already.

She saw Bull also take a swig, and she gaped at him, “Come on, boss, you’re telling me you never imagined that?”

“The point of the game is to tell the truth, my dear,” Dorian chided her playfully.

“Nope, never,” she was being honest. Why would she lie? Especially since she’s drunk? “He’s a shemlen, not my type.”

“Tell us, Herald, why did you decide to drink tonight then?” Varric quirked. The tavern was empty besides all of them but the companions all made enough of a commotion of a full tavern. Flissa left as well, leaving a few of her selects out for the inner circle of the Inquisition. Athenna opened her mouth and closed it a few times.

 _Oh, sod it_ , “Cullen said I looked nice today,” she mumbled. Total silence was the response. Then laughter erupted from all her friends. Athenna buried her head in her hands, the embarrassment coming back full force. She still giggled despite herself.

“It’s as if he called you hideous,” Dorian chortled and patted her shoulder.

“I’d rather he did,” Athenna slurred, twisting off the cork to her bottle of brandy and spilling herself another drink. “He’s so…He’s just not…I mean he’s…” she was struggling to find reasons she didn’t like Cullen. This was harder than she thought.

“Sexy?” Dorian added.

“Guys, no, stop,” She weakly swatted her friends away.

“You haven’t thought of anything beneath that armor? There’s a full-grown man in there, I’ll tell you that,” Bull commented, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I know there is!” she growled, avoiding their curious gazes at her. She shrunk in her seat. Athenna could just feel the images conjuring in her mind. But it was…Cullen! Of all people in her world!

“Well I’ll tell you this, even if you’re not, I’ve seen him undress you with his eyes plenty of times,” Blackwall added in from his seat behind them.

“You stay out of this, Mr. Warden, Sir! Ser…Warden!” Sera wagged her finger at him.

“Do you disagree?” he asked.

“Well no- “

“Sera!” Athenna yelped.

“What? Oh, even a blind cloister sister could frickin see it! He’s hot for you, Herald,” she dropped to a sultry tone.

“No, no, no, we’re dropping this conversation…nope, not having it,” the Herald childishly threw her hands over her ears.

“Oh hey, Cullen!” Varric called from next to her. Athenna peeked up, her heart in her throat. _Creators, just act sober, Athenna,_ she chanted to herself. But there was no one else in the room. She mashed her hand against the dwarf’s face. He chuckled at her swatting. They all shared the laugh.

“Come on,” Bull leaned forward, “you never thought of those abs whenever he stretched with his recruits?”

“No, I have not and I won-”

Athenna started but was interrupted by Dorian’s voice in her ear. “You never fantasized about his biceps flexing while he grabs at your waist?” the skin on the elf’s arms prickled, unwarranted images were becoming clearly. _No, no, no, no_ , she shook her head, but it was no use. Her curiosity was sating itself, just picturing his bare chest pressed against her, thrusting her into a wall. She could imagine him holding her thighs while they wrapped around his waist. Her fingers would knead into his perfect locks. All the while she let her tongue flick out to taste that scar--.

“Oh, for all the fuck that’s good in the world!” Athenna downed her shot. They all rejoiced, “I hate all of you!”

“Oh hey, Cullen!” Varric hollered amid the cheers of their comrades.

Athenna didn’t bother to check, rolling her eyes at the dwarf, “I’m not falling for that one again, Tethras,” It was then a throat cleared.

“Herald,” a soft voice beckoned her. Athenna’s gaze shot up at the sound and to the person it belonged to. Cullen stood in the doorway to the tavern with a lantern in his hand. She clutched the side of the bar to keep herself from falling out and curling into a ball. The things that had been going through her mind, those awful, dirty thoughts and he showed up _then_?! The Herald gulped, _act sober, act sober, act sober_.

“C-Commander,” she stuttered.

“I have received quite a few complaints regarding the noise and expected my soldiers in here,” he scanned over the lot and he smirked. _Creators, that bloody scar will be the death of me_ ¸ Athenna thought helplessly. “Why am I not surprised that I found the Herald and her companions causing all the ruckus?”

“Come on, Curly, just blowing off some steam. Come have a pint,” Varric waved him in.

“Some other time, perhaps. I’m just here to shut it down,” he shrugged, his expression remained the same.

Amongst the protests, Athenna threw her hand up, “You heard the man, we’ll have plenty of time to drink after the breach is closed, yeah?” she directed them with a wave of her hand.

With a few disgruntled sighs, they all started to get up slowly. Athenna turned back towards the bar, gripping the brandy and pouring one more shot. “That includes you, Herald,” Cullen remarked tightly.

Athenna stiffened but didn’t stop pouring, “Athenna,” she retorted in a clipped tone. He knew what she was talking about. She stopped correcting him a long time ago, but she knew they were past pleasantries and he still refused to say her name.

He did not speak, only narrowing his eyes at her, annoyed. The Herald downed the shot without breaking eye contact. She could have sworn she saw his eye twitch and enjoyed it way too much. The liquor made her either brave or stupid. Her friends snickered while they exited. He held back a groan, “Please…Athenna,” he nearly pled, sounding exhausted. If she were being honest with herself, it didn’t bother her that he called her by her title. She only wanted to hear her name on his lips. She just didn’t realize that was the case until she made him say it and by _creators_ ¸ she wanted to hear him say it again.

Bull made the hand motion of a whip cracking behind Cullen as he was the last to leave. She resisted another giggle when he gave her a thumbs up.

“Now,” Athenna rested the glass on the table, “Was that so hard?” she slurred.

“Can we please just get you back to your cabin?” The commander’s request was exasperated, and he seemed about to tip over himself. His glare was tired and weak. She felt guilty he was risen for this. But he was in his armor so maybe he was even trying to sleep? 

Athenna frowned, “I’m perfectly capable,” another hiccup, “of walking myself. Get some rest, Cullen.” She started to hop off the chair and for some reason the ground got way too close. Strong fingers gripped her shoulders. “Whoops!” the elf giggled. Meanwhile, the part of her brain that was screaming to be sober evaporated and filled with thoughts of her commander pinning her to a wall again.

He wrapped his arm around her waist which supported most of her weight. Now that she was standing, it was a lot harder to walk. She had not gotten up since she started drinking and realized what a huge mistake she made. That fact didn’t stop all the chuckles and snorts from coming out of her mouth as Cullen dragged her from the inn and into the cold outside world.

“Maker’s breath, how many drinks did you have?” he asked.

“I stopped counting after three,” she sang, her hand clutched part of his mantel to try and regain her balance.

“Yes, three _hundred_ ,” he muttered.

“A joke! My commander made a joke!” she leaned back in laughter, nearly taking him with her.

“Herald!” he chided, pulling at her waist but she only let gravity push her to the ground. Cullen let out an annoyed grunt, throwing her over his shoulder. His arm anchored behind her knees, crushing them to his abdomen.

“Wee!” she squealed, he cursed again under his breath. He was tall, even for a shem. She felt like she was ten feet off the ground, that may have been the booze though. Her arms flailed uselessly against his mantel which was now shoved into her nose. He successfully muted her. She bounced against his back while he crunched through the snow. Haven was completely empty which was probably better anyway; the picture of the commander hauling off his drunken Herald probably wouldn’t bode well with the people.

She watched the path to the tavern reverse to her cabin. The breach still shined with its angry glimmer in the sky. Athenna gazed back down at her hand which pulsed quite a few times since her return from the mire. While she usually stressed more about it, she let it fall against Cullen’s back again.

After jostling down the steps, Cullen made the right turn towards her small home before sliding her off his shoulder. He held her waist to steady her again and he let go. She sighed, thoroughly satisfied she’d made a fool of herself.

“Goodnight, Herald,” he muttered bitterly at her.

“Cullen, wait,” Athenna called out as he was turning to leave. He stared back at her expectantly, one foot still in the direction of the chantry. “M’ sorry,” she whispered. He rubbed his neck.

“It’s not you, Herald,” was all he said. Would he even attempt to rest for the night now? Did she make things worse? She gnawed on her lip and she watched his eyebrows furrow, pained.

“Are you well?” She did her best not to slur.

“I will be once you go to bed,” he replied simply.

She realized he would be a tough nut to crack. She barely understood what drew her to him, but he wasn’t like the other shems. He didn’t see her as a goddess or friend of a goddess; just her, Athenna. Even if he preferred her title. She would close the breach soon and that would leave a lot of things up in the air. Maybe it was better to know just one simple thing. “One more thing,” she requested. He nodded her to continue, “What you said in the war room today? Was it true?” she hiccupped, “that you think I look nice?” she bumbled out. She’d never be able to ask him this sober, her face would burst into flames if she did and would her sober self truly want to know? She wanted-no, needed to know now. The part that usually hides away deep inside herself, the part that cared for Cullen entirely too much, was asking.

His expression turned unreadable and Athenna already felt the stings of regret. What would he think of her question? How ridiculous it was? Why did it matter, he could ask? Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his answer. He pursed his lips for a moment, “n-no,” he stared off, away from her heavy scrutiny. Athenna took a deep breath, letting the hurt come over her so she could be rid of it. So, she knew where they stood, and these foolish thoughts could stop. She nodded and turned towards her cabin. Her hands were on the door, rejection seeping deep waves into her soul. “I-I…” he inhaled slowly. Athenna froze, fingers gripping tight onto the knob, “I think you’re beautiful,” he blurted from behind her.

Hesitantly, she looked back at him and he was smiling warmly at her. Varric mentioned her laugh could melt someone’s heart but it stood nothing against that smile. “Y-…you do?”  she asked. She searched for foul play, but he only stepped into her space.

“I always have,” he spoke in a low tone.

“I-I…I don’t understand,” she shook her head while he gazed at her. She was just a knife ear to him, wasn’t she? And he was a shemlen, she chided herself. No, no, this wasn’t right.

“You won’t remember any of this anyway,” he caught a strand of her hair and tucked it in behind her pointed ear. She shuttered, her hands ached to reach back for him, but she stood in too much shock.

“Won’t I?” She used all her breath to say it.

He maintained quirked lips whilst staring down at the hair still in his gloves and then back at her when he let it go. His honeyed irises glimmered at her as he backed away slowly, “Sleep well…Athenna.” He retreated quickly before she could get another word in. Athenna just leaned against her door, her drunken brain trying to comprehend the scene that happened. 

Creators curse that sweet voice of his saying her name. Curse that smile. Curse that sodding scar. Curse his perfect body. Curse it all. This wasn’t over. She would seal the breach and live just to hear that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this chapter more fluffy than intended! I needed to bridge the plot together somehow, I don't know! Drunk Quizzy is also hilarious. Next Chapter is more plot related as we finally close that persnickety breach. Thank you for the feedback/kudos and I can't wait to keep writing!


	7. Fueled By Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. Northern Pastures- Two Steps from Hell  
> 2\. Enchantress- Two Steps from Hell  
> 3\. Siege- Two Steps from Hell
> 
> Yes...I love Two Steps from Hell.

Back when Athenna first walked out of the fade at the conclave, it was as if she was awoken by a nightmare. She was confused, disoriented, trying to reel the images in of what just happened but there was nothing; just the burning of her hand to remind her that it did happen. The Earth cracked beneath her knees and she fell to unconsciousness; propelled into the Fade once more. Now instead of living inside the nightmare, she stood from the outside, knowing that all too soon she would have to meet it again.

The days that led to the breach closing were blurred and painful. The pulses were incessant now; the Fade broke into the waking world entirely too much, even with Mineave’s glove. She didn’t sleep the night before, only tossed and turned from the hauntings of what was to come. The mark glowed green against her chest as she muffled her screams into a blanket. She could only pray to the creators it would stop once the breach was closed, or she died. Either way, it would all be over soon.

The morning came at an agonizing pace. She was already outside when the sun barely risen and spent her early hours hunting on the outskirts of Haven. The mind of a hunter took place of her worries, letting arrow after arrow loose, destined to meet its prey. When Athenna returned, the town was more awake, the mages and templar recruits stayed clearly separated but civilized. The villagers greeted the Herald as always in the morn and she muttered back, not feeling it inside herself to give them proper good mornings. Every so often, she stole glances at the breach, her nightmare in the sky.

Just as she reached the door to the town, it opened on her. She gasped, taking a step back, having not been paying attention. Cullen stood, “Herald,” he greeted softly. She felt a ghosted pang in her head from the last time she spoke to him; the war room after her dreadful night of alcohol consumption. Athenna told him not to shut the door so loudly and he chuckled, _chuckled_! The nerve of that man, he wasn’t the one who was hungover. When asked if she remembered anything the night before, Athenna paused trying to comb through the smudged images; the taste of the brandy, embarrassment (although she wasn’t sure for what), the game, the laughter of her crew. She knew there was more, but it was no use trying to recall the rest of the night. He seemed satisfied with her answer, still sodding snickering. Oh creators, did she say something? He quickly denied it but he was clearly lying. Maybe it was best that it remained unknown.

“Leaving already?” Athenna asked him.

“Ser!” A messenger handed him a note, he came from the mountain paths. Cullen acknowledged him with a nod of his head, taking the parchment and quickly reading through it, hand resting on the pommel of his sword as always.

“Our initial scouts have reached the temple with little resistance, I will be leading the second group through, and we shall await your arrival,” her eyes moved to the shield attached to his back; elegant, the symbol of the Inquisition shining with the morning sun. She frowned. It was unusual to see Cullen leaving with the troops, he was always staying behind, ordering from the safety of Haven. _Don’t be such a hen, he can take care of himself_ , she chided herself. When she didn’t answer, he looked back at her. Without thinking about it, she wrapped some of the game she hunted and offered it him. He seemed taken back, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I was hunting this morning. It’s all skinned and deboned,” she said with a shy smile, “it just needs a fire to cook over.”

“You don’t need to offer me your lunch,” he countered.

She maintained a polite smile, “I didn’t hunt to eat. I was…trying to keep my mind off things,” she gnawed on her lip and stared to the breach. Cullen joined her gaze, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight. “It would just end up back at the tavern anyway,” Athenna kept her tone light, ripping away from the clouds.

He turned back to her and smiled slightly. He took her offering, dipping his head, “Thank you, Herald,” he said in a low voice.

“Dareth Shiral, Commander,” Athenna smiled widely.

He clearly didn’t know much of her language, but he was of enough knowledge to nod to her, “and you as well,” he bid her farewell, returning to his troops.

Athenna traveled to the chantry, Mineave had something she wanted to give her before leaving for the frost backs. It would be a waiting game until word arrive that Cullen made it with his men. She called a good morning to Josephine before speaking with the researcher. Minaeve rifled through her trunk and produced what looked to be a clip. Athenna cocked her head to the side when she turned the medallion to see the same symbol that was on Cullen’s shield and Cassandra’s chest plate. She asked the Herald permission before clipping it onto her cloak. The silver shined proudly against its dark backdrop.

“It’s not a fashion statement either,” she droned, “its enchanted. It’ll help channel any dark magic away from your body. I don’t know if we can trust all the mages we’re bringing, call me paranoid.”

“Although it does complete the cloak!” Josephine chimed from her desk. Minaeve rolled her eyes and sighed.

Athenna studied it, twisting the cold metal in between her bare fingers. She realized none of her armors bared the Inquisition’s emblem; it was nice to finally have some representation. With her vallaslin, it felt more she was just a Dalish representative as opposed to one of the Inquisition’s agents.

The day passed by uneventfully, which left Athenna to her thoughts and unfortunate anxiety over the whole matter. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders once more. The burden never really left but quieted in the last few weeks since the trouble in Redcliffe. The mages prepared themselves in straight lines; eerily like how they marched to the conclave. Except this time, they did not have their templar counterparts walking by their side.

She didn’t know what would happen when she reached the temple. The unknown scared her the worst and it was to be a long trek to the breach. The closer to her step off time she got, the worse her anxiety felt. Cassandra and Solas would accompany her with the mages; the rest of her companions were to stay behind. This next big step would be done without Dorian at her side and it gave her a grim numbness. He was the one who undoubtedly kept her feet on the ground in the dark future. She didn’t share the same trust with her warrior or elven mage. Dorian needed to stay behind however, to protect Haven in case anything went wrong.

She couldn’t stop shivering but it wasn’t from Haven’s usual brisk temperature. On the verge of convulsions, she tried counting her breaths to stop her anxiety from peaking. None of it was working and she shook uncontrollably by the stables. Everyone was minding their own business; Cassandra and Solas chatted about their plans once the convoy entered the temple, the mages talked quietly amongst themselves, more excited chatters. Her companions all wished her luck and she mumbled thank you’s to them.

Dorian saw right through her though; her shaking was visible now. Her hair was bristling against her shuttering face. The mage rested his hands on her shoulders, “breathe,” he instructed. She sucked in the cold air. It only made her quiver more. They hadn’t even left yet, and she wanted to drop to the ground.

“D-Dorian, what…what if it doesn’t-….” She shook her head amongst her convulsions, “What if I can’t-…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. The panic sliced through her worries and they festered.

“It will work,” heat emerged from his finger tips to where he touched her, the warmth at least calmed her shivering, “You can do it and not just because anyone else can’t,” he encouraged. He added his other hand to her cheek, more fire, “You’re Athenna. Rogue Huntress of Clan Lavellan. Herald of Andraste. Whether or not you believe in the Maker or your creators, somewhere you were deemed worthy for this. You…” he trailed, “You were born for this.” The words hit her, whisking deep inside and penetrating her soul. She may not believe in Andraste, but she does believe in fate. The creators saw her capable and she will see this through.

* * *

The sun reached late day. Night would fall soon. Leliana already sent word the Herald and the mages left at noon. She should be arriving soon, and he beat down the impatience to see her once more. Cullen didn’t deny his attraction to the Herald but more suppressed it. She had enough of her duty to fill an entire year’s worth of paperwork, she needn’t a distraction. If she were someone else, if she were not…He shook his head at his thoughts. She _was_ the Herald and he would not interrupt her duties.

“Oy, the Herald packing your lunches now, Commander?” Rylen called out from across their makeshift camp. Cullen’s neck set fire at his words. Luckily the men were in the farther parameters of the temple, so no one could spot his embarrassed cough. His lieutenant grinned despite himself when the commander rolled his eyes. Cullen picked apart the game and popped the rest in his mouth. Regardless of his outstanding experience and knowledge as a templar, Rylen still managed to crack jokes when he could, even if the timing were less than appropriate.

Cullen knew he meant well, although he knew just how to get under his boss’ skin especially when he mentioned the Herald. Not many noticed Cullen’s small interest in her worship, but Rylen did. Every chance he got, he teased Cullen relentlessly over it. This was simply to get a rise out of the man and was all in good nature. Of course, it was never in front of the men either.

“She only offered her extra portions. Nothing more, captain,” he wrapped up the scraps in the same bag it came in, dusting himself off.

“Tell her to bring some for the whole class next time, yeah?” Rylen strode over and sat down next to his comrade. He dug in his pack and started breaking apart a few biscuits. They were as bland as they looked. The Herald’s game was a luxury compared to those stale bits of bread. He was surprised at her offer to him, though it was probably out of politeness. The blush he saw was probably just Haven’s chill.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered.

“Only a jest,” the man smirked, “though is it not convenient she happened to be on the other side of the very door you were opening. One could say it was…fate.”

“No. It was convenience,” Cullen remarked dryly.

Rylen chuckled, “just so.”

Cullen absently scratched at the side of his forehead where a migraine was growing since that morning. The rush of the cold mountain air and lack of food hadn’t helped. Though with Rylen’s cheery conversation and the meat that the Herald gave him, it was enough to let the pain fade into the background as always. His bad days were becoming fewer and hopefully that meant the withdraw was beginning its very slow death. Nightmares still haunted him in the night while his migraines pounded away in the day, but he wasn’t bedridden, and he was functioning. It was nowhere near pleasant, but it was bearable, and Cullen could accept that.

“She is quite a site, I’ll give her that,” Rylen continued. Cullen exhaled sharply, and his friend grinned victoriously.

“She is,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Have you told her so?”

“Why yes, I- “

“When she wasn’t completely snockered?”

“-…haven’t.”

Rylen shook his head, “that was a cheap move,” Cullen turned to glare, “and a cowardly one at that. You know it to be true.” The captain never stood against his commander’s decisions in the sense of war. Although when it came to affairs of the heart, Rylen was softer than Cullen. While he wanted to hear nothing of it, Rylen insisted on annoying him when every spare moment appeared.

As always, Cullen resorted to his age all excuse, “She’s the herald-”

“Yes, yes,” the captain waved him off, “’She’s the Herald, I’m the Commander, and we’re bound to our duty and blah, blah, blah,’” he barked in a poor imitation of his boss’s Ferelden twang. Cullen’s frown deepened at the words. Rylen used his normal voice then, “She’s also a woman, and one with needs, lest you have forgotten.”

Maker, he wished he could forget about it. The thoughts of the Herald crept slowly at first, a passing notion that his tired mind stumbled upon during nights where all he could look at was the top of his tent. As his sleepless nights went on, he reflected more on the things he never noticed about Athenna Lavellan; the lighter streaks of blonde in her hair, the ginger freckles that dotted scarcely but loudly on her heart shaped face, her perfect white teeth biting down on her bottom lip which was just a little smaller than her top lip. Every war council they shared or conversation they had, he kept noting her details, her mannerisms, the things she did when she thought no one else was looking; how she would absently gaze into the sky, hum a small melody under her breath while she moved a piece on the war table, kick her feet up in a strange tap when she walked through the halls of the chantry, just to hear the echo.

His fellow advisors caught on as well but only teased occasionally. Never enough for the Herald to notice. He found himself studying the Herald during a council, only meaning to talk to the group but his eyes were resting on the scar just on the upper right portion of her forehead. It was but a deep angry line in her skin, just barely missing her tattoo. She definitely didn’t have the scar when they met, did she? He contemplated when she could have received it and how? Did he want to know, however? It didn’t stop the worries from entering his stream of consciousness. Was it during Redcliffe? Or The Fallow Mire? Sometime during their trips to the Hinterlands perhaps?

 _“You were saying something about the…Cullen?”_ Josephine nudged into his peripheral. The Herald looked up from the map then and he wanted to shrink away, he’d been caught. He stuttered an apology before he collected his thoughts. He could have sworn he saw the Herald smirk from the corner of his eye.

More than an appropriate number of instances did he find himself staring at her, sweeping for new things to discover about the Herald that he hadn’t before. While every part of him warned to stop this nonsense, pull back from a pretty face, he didn’t want to. It’d been so easy as a templar, many of the female mages he interacted with were pretty. His duty always took bound over his weakness to temptation. Only duty failed once to that awful sin and it was when he was only a young templar with no years of restraint under his belt. He did his best not to think of those times because that life was behind him.

The chorus of synchronized feet hitting the cold ground echoed off the walls of the temple. Cullen and Rylen looked up to see Inquisition soldiers and the mages marching up towards the camp. They were led by the Herald who was flanked by Cassandra and Solas. Her eyes were pale, unreadable, a completely different expression than the one that morning. Cullen frowned at her, he could only imagine what was going through her mind. Solas started directing the mages towards the entrance of the temple, to the breach. Rylen joined the other man that came with the Herald. Cassandra nudged the Herald in the arm, cocking an eyebrow at her, the Herald mumbled something he couldn’t read. Cassandra grimaced but moved on from her. The Herald’s shoulders sunk, and eyebrows furrowed. She physically bent away from the breach. That’s when he caught it in her eyes, she was not nervous. She was _terrified_.

Cullen heard Rylen’s throat clearing while he ushered the men. The captain shoved his gaze to the Herald before turning towards the temple. What in the world was he supposed to say? _Good Luck, Herald? Try not to think about being the only hope of closing the giant hole in the sky?_ While he chewed over his words, the Herald started slinking behind the troops. Cullen jogged to catch up with her.

“Herald,” he called out.

She turned back, frown still dominant, eyebrows still furrowed. “Commander,” she greeted back.

“Are you alright?” they walked together but allowed the convoy to edge ahead.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmured.

Cullen grimaced, “That’s not what I-” He was interrupted by the distinct sound of her mark triggering. She grunted, her hand was underneath her dark cloak. Even covered by the fabric, the magic shined the same green as the breach. She clenched her teeth and took several gasps. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder to steady her. Her left arm emerged from her cloak and her hand was shockingly uncovered. It was the first time Cullen ever saw her mark. It was flashing against the layers of her skin, he could almost feel the energy of the fade rolling off it. Her eyes regarded the mark with intensity. It seemed she tried to bend it to her will. After a few moments it ceased, and the Herald dipped her head, apologizing. “Don’t be sorry.”

She quaked a few more breaths before slowly straightening up. Something changed in the way she stared at the breach. She wasn’t so terrified anymore but transitioned into an expression he knew all too well. The same one Hawke wore whenever he encountered with a templar. The look his charges would sneer at him whenever he Silenced them. The very same look he gave Meredith when he finally stood up to her. It was righteous, determined, and more than anything, defiant. “This will all be over soon,” she whispered. Maker, how right she was.

The two walked side by side into the decimated temple. It was an eerie quiet between them. The calm before the storm. There was no howl of the wind against the snow banks or even the familiar clashing of swords. Cullen passed by Rylen and all joking aside, he nodded to the commander, allowing them to pass through the barricade the men made to guard the temple from any interruptions. The opening in the temple was clear, the mages went to the upper levels to give the Herald room. Cullen stopped just before the threshold, already having gone past where he was supposed to be posted. She didn’t turn back but rather dipped her head down. Her voice was neither loud or soft. It was a conversational tone, anyone who passed her would be permitted to listen as she prayed.

_“Elgar’nan, guide me down the path to my destiny._

_Mythal, help bring justice to those who caused this destruction.”_

Cullen unconsciously stepped forward, close enough to reach out and touch her. He could just barely hear it. His curiosity ravaged inside, he never heard the elven pray before and it was interesting. Because her worship was the one reciting it, he was downright fascinated.

_“Falon’, Din, grant the souls who died in this once holiest of places the rest they deserve._

_Dirthamen, lend me your wisdom so I may see this through._

_Andruil, bestow your strength upon my daggers should the worst come._

_June, allow your resolve to fortify my blades._

_Ghilan'nain, bless the Inquisition with the direction they crave.”_

She paused in her prayer, lifting her head up to the breach.

_“Sylaise, stand with me so, in the end, you may show me the way home.”_

Athenna slowly walked towards the brech, but Cullen’s own voice made her halt. A small gasp left her mouth for she probably realized someone _had_ been listening in. He didn’t falter in his own prayer for her.

_“So Andraste said to her followers: ‘You who stand before the gates,_

_You who have followed me into the heart of evil,_

_The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat_

_Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: Not alone do we stand on the field of battle’”_

She said no words, only turned to walk into the center of the ruins. She may have been the Herald of Andraste, but she was not an andrastian herself. She prayed to her creators for guidance just as Cullen prayed to his maker. He recited that piece from the Chant of Light simply because it was Andraste who was rallying her men even in the face of darkness. While he would never force his views on the Herald, he was showing her that even Andraste could be afraid while leading the charge.

She straightened up in her posture as she rounded nearly underneath the center of the breach. The mark burst, and she glared up at the sky; she was scared but ready. Solas and Cassandra stood beside her before turning to their magical allies.

“Mages!-” Cassandra began

“Focus past the Herald!” Solas called out, “Let her will draw from you!” the elf gestured to all of them with one hand solidly on his staff. All the while, the Herald stood, the ground beneath them started to shake. More green strips of the fade curled around her arm, up her body and into her eyes. The rift cracked into weakened waves of disruption. The stormy shade that usually occupied her irises now turned the same color as the breach. The Herald he knew wasn’t there, only a vessel for that blasted mark. Cullen felt himself stutter back a step; how alien she looked then. Wisps of the energy then clawed from her cloak, and as her mouth opened, more of the fade spread. The mages slammed their staffs into the ground, adding their magic to hers.

The wave sent the air upwards; taking his breath away. The storm was now in its full force. The calmness he shared with the Herald ceased as the breach and fade swirled around her. Her eyes were still wide until Solas shouted, “Now, Herald!” She seemed lost at first, the shock of the breach paralyzed her. Solas stared at her intently, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The Herald blinked and convulsed her chest forward. Cullen’s heart stopped for a moment when he realized Solas pulled her consciousness from the fade. It was trying to vacuum her in. She was aware now, her teeth visibly clenched as she thrust her mark into the air. The combined powers shook the ruins and it raced up into the gigantic rift. The center of gravity shifted then, the Herald held all Thedas in the palm of her hand. With a loud snap and crack, the breach enveloped upon itself before shutting completely.

The last of the fade magic struck back down onto the Herald, knocking her onto her back. Everyone else was also taken down by the energy. Cullen grasped onto the nearby wall for leverage. Once he regained balance with the others, he found she was still on her back. He felt dread at what that meant.

“Herald!” Cullen’s shout penetrated through the weak bricks of the temple. Cassandra held her hand up to halt him. Solas knelt by her. He stilled, only watching his Herald lie motionless. Too still, his mind panicked. She’s _too still_. Cassandra also bent down towards the elf and placed a hand on her shoulder. After three agonizing seconds, the elf drew a sharp breath, eyes back to their wonderful shade of violet. _Thank the maker_ , he nearly lost his own balance at the relief.

Cassandra and Solas slowly helped her to her feet. She stumbled and looked around the temple, the realization hitting him the same as her; the breach was closed. She seemed to mumble something and turned to beam at the mages.

“We did it!” she shrieked. The replies were different yet had the same annotation; cheers and whistles. The Herald, with the help of the mages, finally sealed the breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah! Missed my word count again! This chapter was all kinds of a pain in the ass but I hope you all enjoy it anyway! We finally closed the blighted breach. Also side note, the scar Cullen is referring to is the very same one his future self gave to Athenna when he shield bashed her...woops? Please I do appreciate any feedback/kudos! Thank you to those who have chosen to follow the story! xxx-Kristin


	8. Ghost Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Starfall- Two Steps from Hell  
> 2\. Titan Dream- Two Steps from Hell  
> 3\. Dream- Imagine Dragons  
> 4\. Be Still- The Fray

Many of those from Clan Lavellan wondered why Athenna never took a deep study into Andruil, the goddess of the hunt. She was to become a huntress after all. While she never admitted it, Athenna did not like the design of Andruil’s drawings on her face. It was superficial and the vallaslin itself was more important because it pertained to her chosen creator as opposed to how it would appear across her entire face. She was young, but blood writing was forever.

While she did not appreciate Andruil’s vallaslin design, Athenna still followed by her _Vir Tanadhal_ ; Way of Three Trees. It was that knowledge that she carried with her not through her blood writing but simply life. Even when the Inquisition came along. Hell…even when Haven was being attacked, the words were branded in her mind as she took down the Red Templars.

Athenna expected her anxiousness to make its usual quiet but dominant presence in the back of her mind but it ceased. Too much happened in too little time to truly have time to think about it. Only moments before Cullen came running through the gates she was speaking with Cassandra. Their friendship was finally blossoming after many months of antagonism. While Cassandra protected Athenna and her decisions, there was no warmth or familiarity. Although she felt safe with the warrior, she didn’t feel comfortable. Cassandra talked of the rifts and the future but was weary when she offered a sideways glance to Athenna.

After an awkward silence, Athenna turned to her, “What? You thought I wasn’t staying?”

“The breach is sealed, you have fulfilled your end of the bargain,” Cassandra spoke slowly, each word was painful when it came out, strained.

“There are still rifts, and…the Elder One,” Athenna was shocked at her comrade’s worry of her being a flight risk. Even though Athenna missed her clan, she knew they would understand when she would write to them, at last having the space of mind to do so. She believed she finally had her words right and she would begin writing them down once the celebration was over. Athenna owed the keeper that much. Cassandra seemed surprised and pleased with the answer.

Time failed to keep up with her when she began carving through the red monsters as they barreled into Haven. Her wrists flicked, swiped, and twisted with her daggers, the instruments of a huntress. She did not wonder on the souls she took for once they were innocent. Athenna never killed so many people until she was in the Inquisition. People were different from animals in a way, even if they were shemlen. They were intelligent, with homes and families. But like animals, she did not let her victims linger while they bled to death. _Vir Assan_ , way of the arrow. The first tree of _Vir Tanadhal_. Andruil was swift and merciful. Anger and Vengeance should not be the reason of killing, as strange as it seemed. Death was to only be used as a necessity. The animals she hunted must be killed for they provided her clan food and clothing. The Red Templars were to be killed because they threatened her home and would not stop until every soul in the Inquisition was no more. They would not be allowed to live. It was this logic that kept her from falling at the seams.

Athenna slipped into her shadows, the dark friends who hugged her small, lithe form. The inconspicuousness allowed her to quickly and accurately pounce onto the Templars who roared when they discovered her. She got banged up badly, but she kept on her toes, dancing between her enemies, hitting at weak spots in their armor before disappearing into the darkness once more. After the mess with the trebuchets, the inner circle made a break for the door by the training fields. But Harritt caught Athenna’s eye. She immediately covered him as he was desperate to grab something from his forge. No enemies passed his guards alive when he emerged from the cabin. Athenna felt one of her daggers being unsheathed. Before she could turn around, the smith planted a firm hand on her shoulder. He requested her to stand still for a moment while he placed something in the empty latch.

“She’s a bit longer but she sure as shit can slice through anything like its damned butter,” the man’s said hastily into her ear. She reached back and felt the slicer nick into her skin. Despite the sting, a mischievous smile bubbled on her lips; better late than never for an upgrade. Before she could thank him, the smith was running off to the chantry.

On Cullen’s order, The Inquisition pushed to the chantry, their last salvation. What would happen after that was unknown and it twisted knots in Athenna’s stomach. Dorian and Iron Bull covered her while she and Cassandra rescued the townsfolk; pulling Flissa from the rubble, dragging Adan and Minaeve from burning explosives, Threnn from being overrun by the templars and Seggrit from his burning cabin. It was one right after the other, but she would not let her people die. Not at the clutches of this treacherous Elder One. It was Andruil’s second tree, _Vir Bor’Assan_ , like a bow, she would bend but never break.

She carried Seggrit half dead into the chantry, one of the other townspeople nodded to Athenna before taking the man from her. Athenna dropped her hands on her knees, shaking in breaths. Her emotions ultimately caught up with her and it took all her strength not to keel over into a ball. “ _Ar elana tirdana_ ,” she uttered through gritted teeth, “ _Thuast Ar ju din dana_ ,” she hissed the second tree to herself in elven. Their backs were against the wall and all hope was gone with that sodding archdemon, dragon, whatever that thing was! Athenna ground her fist into the nearby wall, growling. One moment of peace was too much to ask for in this creator’s damned town. Cullen’s words flowed through her ears. They would bury Haven with the remaining trebuchets, ultimately taking down the rest of the red templars. Athenna didn’t comprehend the consequences of the plan until he paused. She gazed back at him with horror, his eyes were slow embers, solemn but resolved.

“We’re dying but we can decide how,” he spoke lowly, “not many get that choice.” So, in the end, there was no chance, nothing would save them. Those people deserved better, the Inquisition deserved better. All their work over the past couple months, the effort to save the world would be frozen underneath Haven’s mountains. So much still needed to be done but perhaps it was up to another soul to stop the rifts. Another realization sunk in her gut: Clan Lavellan would never hear from their lost huntress again, they would never get closure… _Deshan…Mamae…. Carvin…oh creators…forgive me_.

The strange boy they’d found outside, Cole, perked up from his position next to the dying chancellor Roderick. The man explained about an underground passage that no one could have navigated. He only knew it from his summer pilgrimage with the chantry. It was the Inquisition’s last hope of survival. Athenna asked Cullen of the odds and he obliged the plan, if only slightly optimistically.

“But what of your escape?” he asked the first question she knew the answer to. Athenna risked a glimpse at the shemlen and took in his features for what she was sure to be the last time; jaw set, eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a thin line—the scar on his upper lip stood straight up, and lastly, those sodding golden eyes she thought about entirely too often. They stood without words, her inevitable death lingered in the air, created a heavy silence. It reminded her of his dark future counterpart when they parted, but he smiled then for he knew she would live on in the past and save the world even if it meant he died making sure she got out safely. How the roles were reversed. This time she was the one to smile crookedly at him. “Maybe you’ll surprise it, find a way,” he said meekly. He was unconvincing, full of grief already. Her chest tightened and she turned away from him. 

And so Andruil’s last tree makes itself known, _Vir Adahlen_ , sacrifice one so many may live. Athenna would die and her death serve as the survival of the Inquisition. It is the way of the Dalish. The people Athenna was born into were both selfish and non. When it came to the clan, they were collectively selfish because the clan came first above the rest of the world. It was also that very ideal that makes them unselfish, noble sacrifice is mourned but accepted, an honor. If someone must die so the clan may live…so be it. The Inquisition became an extension of her clan because her heart was no longer just in the deep forests of the Free Marches, it lay inside Haven with the Inquisition.

“ _Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children. Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn,_ ” Andruil’s words came out of Cole’s mouth and Athenna nearly jumped. Before she could ask him how he knew, he continued, “the future was stained with a painful red, it hurt deeper than any cut into her heart, but this is the chance she fought for. Now they will be safe and warm for the time being, but she knows the past is no longer possible, for the new future is golden, even if she is not part of it,” the boy said aloud. She wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but she could feel her heart swell into her chest and up her throat.

Cole hoisted up Roderick, but he stopped by Athenna, “Herald…if you were meant for this—if the inquisition was meant for this,” he sucked in a useless breath, “I pray for you,” he croaked. She didn’t ‘t say anything, still struck with Cole’s words. The boy strode forward and dragged the Chancellor with him.

Soldiers rushed past Athenna and she followed them with her gaze to the doors. Cullen calmly relayed the plans of loading the trebuchets and keeping the Elder One distracted until the rest of the Inquisition reached a safe distance. Athenna nodded weakly and began to grab her daggers. She couldn’t bear to see his calculated expression again, for it brought her no comfort, only pain.

“Herald--… Athenna,” he beckoned her name. Athenna froze mid step towards the doors. Slowly, she turned back to him, he took a half step towards her. She tightened her grip on her blades, how she ached to reach out to him. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it wasn’t from the impending battle. He softened just slightly enough for her to notice. He hesitated before whispering, “Dareth Shiral.” The elven language was clumsy on his tongue but rang true in his sweet voice.

He spoke with words he knew she would take to heart because all others would be meaningless. Her chest ached but it gave her the last bit of strength to go on. If the Inquisition would live was all that mattered to her. “Mas Serannas…Lethallin,” she slipped the one phrase that meant friend in her language. For he was her friend. Their relationship grew fast in the dark future but in the present, it took time, but she was happy in the end they got there even if it were at the last moment possible. Athenna turned away from her commander and pushed through the doors to her fate.

* * *

Athenna never imagined death could be so cold; the fact that she felt anything was amazing. She wondered if her clan would still plant a tree for her or if the Inquisition would do it. Did they know that’s what the Dalish traditionally did with their dead? She supposed it didn’t matter now. They were safe, even if only for the present. The Elder One, Coryphaeus, lost no matter how much it seemed like he won. Her last words to him stung inside her mind, the only thing she could remember from her life, “You expect me to fight but that’s not why I kept you talking, enjoy your victory,” she shifted her weight, “here’s your prize” she shrieked as she kicked out her leg to let loose the trebuchet that caused Haven’s avalanche. And so, Athenna Lavellan ran to her death.

The ground was freezing against her back, surely her remains could never create a tree there. Of course, her body would stay frozen underneath Haven. _How befitting_ , she thought sardonically. The fact the thoughts were still running through her mind baffled her. Did all thoughts not stop after life did? It was then she felt a faint tapping. She strained to listen, but it was weak. Something dripped onto her cheek.

 _“Vhenan_ ,” it was not a voice but rather a distant memory. It wasn’t her own thoughts either. “ _Get up, Vhenan_ ,” it begged her. How can she get up? She wasn’t even alive. It was stubborn, the entity, it could have been shoving her had she a body. Something else dripped in the distance. How odd she still kept her hearing and touch. The tapping increased its tempo and the beat was louder. The rhythm was familiar… _thump-thump…. thump-thump_ …. a heart? A heart was beating. Was it possible? “ _Dalen_ ,” it urged, “ _breathe!”_ Breathe? Could she breathe? Do the dead breathe? No…but the living did. Air was forced into her crushed lungs. The heart slammed inside her chest. It _was_ her heart. She was alive? She fiercely inhaled another breath and her eyes opened into a tunnel. It was dark and frigid, a path of scrabbled stones and wood panels stretched out into a hallway.

 _“Sit up, slowly, Vhenan,”_ the entity encouraged. Athenna then scrambled from her position, the outline of a figure stood in front of her. She couldn’t make out its features, it emitted an orange glow. A spirit? What was a spirit doing here? Wherever she was, the veil was thin apparently. It was clear it knew her, but did she know it? She threw her fists in her eyes, a close encounter with dead always conjured spirits, that much she knew. It floated patiently as she sat up. Her skin prickled underneath her thin coat. The passage was damp, giving the cold more teeth to bite at her weak nerves. “ _You must move,”_ its thoughts poked at her very limbs.

“Who are you?” Athenna rasped. It hurt to speak, she received at least a couple broken ribs.

The spirit hesitated before answering, “ _a guide.”_

Athenna shook her head, “You called me ‘Vhenan,’” the elven term meaning “heart,” only her mother ever called her that. “You’re more than that.”

The spirit didn’t answer. It didn’t need to. The spirit didn’t have a voice or face, just thoughts. This would make it impossible for her to identify it. Maybe it was best to let it lead her before she sat and tried to figure out who it was. Athenna clumsily rose and her limbs protested sharply at the movement. She was bruised as well. The entity turned from her then and slowly floated down the passage.

The ice sloshed underneath her soaked boots and she shivered under her armor. Eventually she would reach the outside world but how long would she last out in the frost backs? The odds were against her but when was that new? The steps from her worn out boots echoed down the narrow cave. Footsteps were imprinted on the ground, ice was not grown over them; fresh. The Inquisition used this path. Let’s hope if the spirit were a demon, she could simply follow the trail of her comrades.

Nothing about the spirit screamed or even hinted demon but perhaps it was what Solas told her of the spirits that came into the waking world; they are as mortals perceive them. From the beginning, its soft notes of comfort told her not to be afraid and they seemed genuine. Of course, desire or pride demons will lead their prey in with a false sense of safety and even go as far as to have them believe they are in control of the situation. Athenna herself never encountered such creatures but this entity very well- for lack of a better word- encouraged her to life. She held no reason to distrust it…yet.

It remained quiet, leading her on. It didn’t do the normal things a mortal would do; fidget, change a step in their walk, check to see if she were still following. It simply was. While she shouldn’t feel alone, she did, there was no way she was supposed to live back there and she did. Athenna didn’t think she would make it this far, perhaps Falon’Din was not ready for her yet and maybe Sylaise was guiding her home. Creators, she could only pray.

Athenna spotted light at the end of the tunnel and picked up her pace. As she grew closer, the anchor lit up for the first time since her encounter with Coryphaeus. She braced herself for its usual burn but only a pocket of warmth emerged from the scar. It shined with its usual intensity but did not harm her.

 _“It has accepted you now”_ the spirit spoke through her thoughts. Accepted her? As what? Its master? It’s only a tool, is it not? Whoever wields it has power. Athenna was just the unfortunate soul who touched it. Why did she steal it? Did she ever intend to?

“You speak as if its alive,” Athenna answered it. The entity did not stopped moving, only slowed.

 _“It is but an extension of the Fade. The Fade is just as alive as the waking world of Thedas, you’d do best to remember this, Dalen,”_ it nearly scolded her. So, the anchor was a catalyst of sorts then?

Before she could think more on it, the familiar shrieking of Fade demons pierced through the tunnels. Just before the outside, a pit stopped her where the demons stood. She readied her weapons but felt more fatigued than before. She could not take on even one demon and two was too much. The anchor grew stronger as she neared them. The enemies took notice and screamed again. Athenna readied her stance but the spirit came to her once more, _“use the anchor,”_ it advised.

“What!?” she dove out of the way of the ice attacks before it could reply.

 _“Hold up the mark, just like you would with a rift,”_ it instructed. Athenna did as she was told and thrust it into the air. The magic coursed down her arm and through her fingers. The green wisps spread out and cracked into the open air. A rift birthed in the middle of the two demons. Their forms froze in place while the rift sucked them back into the Fade. Athenna stood in shock, anchor still in the air. Like dust modes being tossed by the wind, the demons were no more, and the rift closed shut just as quickly as it opened. The magic surged back into the anchor and Athenna stumbled back from the impact.

She took a few seconds to compose herself but gazed back at the spirit. Whether it stared back, she could not tell but it turned towards her. “How did you know that?” she wanted to sound demanding but felt too weak to will the force into her tone.

It waited a moment, a hesitation. _“As I mentioned, I am a guide. I do not come to know things the same as you but rather I just do,”_ Athenna grunted, unsatisfied with its answer but resolved she wouldn’t get a clear one.

Nothing else was exchanged and journeyed towards the blizzard outside. The harshness of the frost backs nearly pushed her over if she not been prepared for it. Any hope of finding the Inquisition on her own was just as existent as the footsteps in the snow; none. Athenna cursed herself for leaving her cloak in the chantry. She felt as though the mead would keep her warm enough until she returned to her cabin at the end of the night. Little did any of them know they wouldn’t return to their beds that night. Was the celebration only been a few hours before? That could have been another life time. The tragedy emerged from nowhere. There was no build up like before Redcliffe, no preparation, just the attack. They had all been foolish, who could have thought Haven was defensible against a heavily armed strike? But no one was thinking about that before Coryphaeus and his followers assaulted the town. The fights were never in Haven. Maybe the Inquisition thought that no one would think of attacking Haven because it was so sacred and full of history. Of course, the same thing could have been said about the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Both were caused by Coryphaeus, Thedas was nothing but a play thing for him.

It was with those thoughts, Athenna was able to push forward through the storm. The spirit floated in lead of her, never straying far from her visibility. Silence was their conversation once more and Athenna felt alone again. White walls surrounded them, and she couldn’t even turn back to settle into the cave for the night if she tried.

Athenna was placing her life in the hands of an entity that was not even of her world and could very well be a figment of her imagination. She hit her head quite a few times on the way down and hadn’t eaten since before the fighting started. She tried putting her hunger on the back burner however, she couldn’t worry about food when there was a blizzard to get out of. Her stomach rumbled despite those ideals.

It could have been hours of the same sloshing through the snow. Her legs ached and begged to stop and take a rest. Athenna couldn’t stop now though, there was nothing to start a fire with and no food to keep her warm through the night. If she stopped now, she would die. The spirit roamed on though and Athenna began wondering if it forgot about her. Do spirits forget things as mortals? She can’t see how.

The more the snow stung her with its fierce arrows against her already frigid face, the more she shivered. No matter how much she wanted to keep moving, the storm began its sluggish killing on her limbs. Her toes were past feeling and her knees were slowing their fight through the deep crevasses of the snow. The blizzard was freezing her into a statue. She should have felt panic but the constant thought of movement on her mind was the only thing that quieted it. If she panicked, would good would it do her? She could only go as far as her body allowed her to. _No more_ , her limbs pleaded, _no more._

Athenna’s knees sunk into the ground at this. Sweet relief that she stopped. The stretch of her muscles ceased and embraced the peace she created with that moment. She felt like she could sleep for days with that comfort. Athenna even felt her lips tug into a smile. A good night’s sleep was just what she needed; no dreams, no stress of what could come next, just the welcoming arms of eternal darkness.

 _“Dalen, no!”_ the spirit was inside her closed eyelids, _“you must keep moving, you are almost there.”_ It tugged on the threads of her consciousness.

“I’m so tired, spirit,” she whimpered, bringing her head down into the freezing ground, “I just want to rest.”

 _“Vhenan, please,”_ it begged her. This was different, it wasn’t a thought anymore it was a voice; _his_ voice. One she locked away to be forgotten forever. It was the same one that whispered old stories of adventure while she fell asleep in his arms. It was the voice that whispered, “I love you,” to her every night before the Fade took her. It was the voice that scolded her for straying from the camp but still encouraged her to continue her ambitious climbing habits, as long as he supervised. The only other person in her life to ever call her vhenan.

She smiled as tears rolled down her cheeks, their warmth leaving refreshing trails in their wake, “don’t you miss me, Papa?” she asked, “I finally get to see you again.” She sobbed, the sound was muted by the wind, but he heard her. How she missed him so and she felt regret for how often she did not think of him. She even failed to pray to him every night before bed since the conclave. Of all that trillions of spirits in the Fade, of course her father would find her on the brink of death just to save her, to keep her from straying too far once again.

 _“I do miss you, Dalen, but never forget, I am always with you,”_ he was so close to her now, his voice was in her ear. _“It is not your time to join me, not yet.”_ The words hurt her more than the barraging of the blizzard. How could he not want to see her? She wanted to see him, she had never been whole since Falon’Din took him from her so violently. She was so young when he died. The guilt never left either, the survivor’s guilt, of how he sacrificed himself, so she would live.

“ _Ir Abelas,_ Papa _,_ ” Athenna wept.

 _“No, Vhenan, no,”_ Ghost arms held her, and she willed it to believe it really was her Papa. _“Just keep your heart beating. They’re coming, they’re coming”_ he chanted into her ear. She didn’t care to ask him who. Athenna no longer felt alone now, she would die with her father waiting on the other side. He cried now with her, pushing her away from the calling of the Fade.

“Just let me be with you.”

 _“Don’t give up. You still have so much to live for_ ,” he encouraged. The beckoning of her childhood sends more sobs into her chest and moaned into the wind. There were figures in the distance, the Fade was getting closer. Thank the creators. It would be over soon; this nightmare would end. She would watch over her friends and her clan from the safety of the Fade. Papa wouldn’t be alone any longer.

“There she is!” that undeniable baritone carried through the blizzard to her. Cullen. Why was he in the Fade? Did the worst come for the Inquisition? Did they not survive the storm? _Creators, no, please, don’t let it be true_. More tears fell down her cheeks and she sniveled into the snow, wailing. _I failed them, they didn’t make it._ Her dead heart shattered and her very soul shook in agony. “Athenna!” he shouted to her. He was closer, its tone luring her to him, but she was stuck in the ground, prepared for death. Her eyes opened to a blurry figure kneeling down. “Maker,” he shook, the sound of sharp latches unclasping made her jump. She was shivering so hard, it disrupted her vision. She recognized the breaths coming in and out of her mouth so rapidly. Her body felt as if it was frozen solid. This was so much worse, let her go back to that beautiful peace from before. “I should have never left you,” she could hear him say. Something heavy was settled onto her shoulders.

“-…dead” she whispered, he didn’t hear her. More tears fell, “why are you dead, Cullen?” she asked him. He must have heard her then and golden irises matched her stare. Why was the journey to the Fade taking so long? Cullen and Papa were already there? How much longer could it possibly be?

“I’m not dead, Athenna, and neither are you,” what comforting words, if only they were true. The desire demons found her then. She could have thrown herself on the ground and laughed hysterically at the irony. He grew closer to her and she was lifted from the ground. She had to admit the demon was very convincing. There was no flaw, no underlying hint he was a fake.

Shaking fingers found his jawline, stubble scratched her searching hands. She never touched him before but what of she to fear? It was all ending, this would be her only chance. Besides it was what she wanted and certainly what the demon wanted. He didn’t protest, only looking back down as he carried her. She traced the circles under his eyes, his hardened cheekbones. She held little knowledge of desire demons but who knew this could feel so _real_. At that point, Athenna didn’t care, he could be a demon and she would be happy to stay with it forever. She felt around his mouth more for the scar on his upper lip. She wished she knew the story of how he got it. She would even bargain one or two of her scar stories for it, it would never be known now.

His lips parted underneath her curious fingers. “Move it!” He barked, she was being shoved between bodies. Her hand fell from his face clumsily. So much roughhousing. The pull of the Fade was too much at this point. She needed to sleep, creators she craved it. Figures and words swirled around her and she was placed somewhere. Cullen disappeared. _No_ ¸ she despaired. Desire demons don’t just leave their prey, do they? Unless….

“Cullen,” she was soundless, shuttering violently with the cold, “Cullen,” she cried louder.

“I’m here,” he came from the side now, the world was still blurry, and she couldn’t find him.

“Don’t leave,” she begged. She tried to reach out again and he caught her, warmth, the first feeling of warmth she had in what felt like ages. He wasn’t wearing gloves. She clutched onto him. Fade or not, he was keeping her from falling apart.

“The healers need to work,” he protested softly. Oh, how he made her feel she was still alive.

“Please,” she pled with him.

“I won’t be far, I promise,” Gold shined through her fluttering eyes. _Sleep, Dalen, you are safe_. Her father whispered to her. The outline of a man stood behind the blur of Cullen. _Ar lath ma, vhenan._ One last tear dripped down the side of her face. Finally, she was being allowed to rest. How she needed it. Something wiped the wetness from her cheek and she let go of her grip on consciousness. _Ar lath ma, Papa_. The Fade took her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when your own writing makes you cry. IM NOT A NARCISSIST I SWEAR! For those of you who do not know the phrase: “Ar lath ma” means “I love you” in elven! This chapter was a pleasure to write compared to the last one. I loved the angst and I finally got to introduce Athenna’s father! Feedback/Kudos is appreciated as always! -Kristin


	9. The Mercy of Andraste's Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. Our Last Hope- Two Steps from Hell  
> 2\. Where’s My Love (Alternate Version)- SYML  
> 3\. Free Spirited- Dexter Britain  
> 4\. Luna- BrunuhVille

“I’m going to search for her,” Cullen hissed and began to quickly pick a few men to accompany him. He couldn’t sit there any longer wondering. He wasn’t a fool, every part of him knew Athenna shouldn’t be alive. They all watched the avalanche cascade down the Frostbacks not moments after he reluctantly told Rylen to shoot the flare. He hustled the stragglers towards the rest of the group but loitered at the peak of the hill that surveyed Haven. The dragon was already flying away from the disaster. It made Cullen grind his teeth. After all of that, that monster emerged victorious and Athenna…he turned back toward the Inquisition then, knowing nothing living was left in Haven. 

The Inquisition created a makeshift camp a good distance away from the destruction, but it would not hold long; a few days, maybe a week at the most. Supplies would only last them so long. With a surprise attack such as this, there was merely a subsequent amount of time to grab the proper provisions for Maker knows how long. Too many were injured or dying to move on, there would be many burials in the days coming.

“The storm is too powerful, its best to wait till daybreak,” Leliana’s calm tone halted his steps. He turned his determined gaze to find her resolved. She already accepted Athenna’s fate. There was hardly any remorse in her steely eyes, but of course she was playing the Game even now. Morale was too low for any leaders of the Inquisition to show their grief. They must push forward even with Athenna gone.

“If there’s a chance she’s alive,” Cullen started but Leliana stepped forward. She remained indifferent, her lip quirking up the slightest bit; a sneer.

“She’s not. We watched the mountains fall.” She said coldly. Again, the image was struck into his mind. Everything told him she was gone but he refused to acknowledge it fully, she was more worthy than that. He needed to find her; dead or alive. The truth itself would finally put his mind at ease or at least…he could find a way to move on.

“Cullen,” Josephine bumbled brokenly. She was more delicate, eyes red rimmed from her own tears, “I want to find her too, but the Inquisition can’t afford to lose another leader tonight,” she worked to keep her voice even. Josephine and Athenna were the closest of the advisors. The ambassador always worried after her even with all the correspondences. She was the first to approach Athenna as her own person and not a chosen one.

He was quiet for a few moments, flicking his glower between the two of them. “She doesn’t deserve this,” he articulated slowly, “to be out there in the middle of the storm.”

Leliana was about to speak up again and Cullen prepared himself for another painful reminder of Athenna’s current state when Cassandra approached quickly. “He’s right,” she defended, “Athenna will not be forgotten, not when there’s no confirmation she is truly dead. She was forced into this life and she intended to stay with us and see it through. I believe that warrants a search,” Cassandra stood tall with her argument. Cullen shot her a grateful glance, whether she caught it or not, she didn’t react. An agonizing pause stretched between the leaders. Leliana turned towards one of the tents on the other side of the camp without another word. Josephine stayed, and gave a small nod.

“Be safe and luck be with you,” she whispered. The ambassador turned, pulling a handkerchief from one of her pockets.

Cullen and Cassandra turned and walked briskly to the mouth of the camp. He called out to Rylen and the captain followed in silently behind his commander. The wind whipped at the three as they trekked through the storm. None of them spoke, no plan of action, how far they should go, how long they should search. The sole factor that kept Cullen moving forward was the foolish hope that Athenna Lavellan is still fighting for her life.

He recognized this was more than obligation to his duty or even pride. They finally reconciled, growing a friendship. Athenna was far kinder to him than she needed to be, far kinder to those who certainly didn’t earn it. To have it all end with a single trebuchet was more than he could bear. He could stand by no longer and have the Inquisition move on without her. Maker, even he may not move on without her.

Despite his emotions, he was also fully preparing himself for if they do find a body. He stowed away any remorse he could feel in the back of his mind and locked it up tight. It would be saved for later in his tent, away from the scrutinizing expressions of his men and colleagues. He would mourn then where only his demons would see it.

A strong glove gripped his arm then and Cullen turned to Cassandra who’s eyes were wide; stricken but he wasn’t sure with what. Not until he followed her gaze to a faint green light in the fog of snow. It flickered weakly against the wind and they picked up their pace. “Is that…” Cassandra started, the wind smothered the sentence.

A figure was attached to the light, and a cry birthed from it. That small sound; it would be hard to determine what it was but with the lithe form carrying the green wisps of magic, he knew who it belonged to. She dropped to her knees and into the snow. The storm could have knocked him over as well if not for the overwhelming desire to take off from Cassandra and Rylen, which he did.

“There she is!” Cullen cried.

“Thank the maker!” Cassandra chimed in relief, but he barely heard her as he was already closing the distance between them.

Cullen allowed his knees to collapse underneath him when he was not a foot away. Athenna was clutching the mark to her chest. Her breaths were shallow and when she didn’t acknowledge him, he felt panic. Her entire form was shaking violently, and she was just wearing her thin coat. She would not last much longer in the blizzard, he was amazed she made it this far. Her eyes were distant, gazing through him. Trails of frozen tears were painted down her pale cheeks. “Maker,” he gasped while he unclasped his mantle. Unexpected anger raced through him. How could they let her do this alone? How could he… Cullen gnashed his teeth together in disgust, “I should have never left you,” he griped as he placed the furs over her shoulders.

Her body sagged against his chest as he settled his arms underneath her legs and back. Before Cullen could pick her up, he could hear her mumbling to him. “Why are you dead, Cullen?” she sounded unequivocally disconsolate, her blue lips quivered viciously. He swallowed a bile in his throat, the cold made her delusional.

Still he answered her, “I’m not dead, Athenna,” he assured her, “and neither are you.” He lifted her then and it was so easy to slip into the familiarity of her weight in his grasp. The memory he had replayed over and over again until it was committed to the long term was in his mind once more; carrying her exhausted body back to her cabin in Haven the night she returned from Redcliffe. He remembered the hesitation towards moving her from the spot on her chair. But he knew the only way she would get out of her own depression was a good nights sleep to start. Even if after that logic, his heart gave a rapid patter in his rib cage at the sensation of holding her close. She molded into his armor now just as she did then and he clutched her tighter; she still shivered.

“Is she…!?” Cassandra began asking but she was already studying Athenna with tension lacing her brows together. Athenna’s head jostled through Cullen’s urgent hiking, drenched frozen hair scraping his chin.

“Barely alive, we need to get her back to the camp,” Cullen used the panic in his voice and disguised it as urgency the best he could. They sent Rylen ahead to prepare the Healers. Cullen and Cassandra hustled in behind him.

At some point, Cullen felt it, the barest stroke of fingers on his face. He shot his gaze back down to Athenna. She studied him through half lidded eyes, rubbing around his cheeks, down his jaw, and his lips. Cullen couldn’t understand anything in that moment besides that she was feeling him, more than ever before. He shivered under her probing hand, reveling in the sensation that was her touch. He longed to mirror her, run his fingers through her hair that was always dawned into a fierce ponytail, draw the swirls of the tattoo over her right eye that crinkled with every expression that crossed her features. The pulling he always felt from her was more than he once believed now that her life was all but gathered inside his arms, but he refused to let it go.

The camp chorused with a mix of gasps, cheers and cries as Cullen carried their broken Herald through the crowds. He pushed passed people, eyes connecting with only the healers tent. _Nothing else matters, keep her heart beating_. “Move it!” He snapped to lingering bystanders.

He trudged through the last of the snow to the waiting open flaps of the healer’s tent.

“Lay her down here,” one of the healers was already busying herself with tools, another readied the bed. Cullen laid her down gingerly, her eyes were fluttering, consciousness was fading on her.

“She’s freezing!”

“Get the Herald out of those clothes”

“I need warming balms now”

The exigent voices all collided with each other while they worked as one well-oiled machine. They were frantic to save their dying leader. Cullen stepped back to give them room, but his eyes did not leave Athenna’s shivering form. They surrounded her, and the distinct sound of fabric ripping made him avert his gawking. He was no use there, no matter how much it ached him to leave her side. He gave tense orders to a few soldiers to keep guard on the tent. No one would be allowed in besides the healers.

“Commander,” one of the healers called out to him, “the Herald is requesting you,” she informed him with such casualness, as if Athenna forgot to tell him something. Despite how much space they all needed, they obliged her anyway, her orders created exceptions even when she was dying. Normally, he would refuse, let them work, this was not his area of expertise. But if this were the last time he was seeing her alive, he would happily do whatever she willed of him.

He caught the faintest call, her beckoning him. He could scarcely imagine she was even aware he was there. Despite this, He knelt beside the small area they created, “I’m here,” Cullen used the most soothing voice he could utter. Her glassy stare struggled to hold his.

Her next words all but broke the last of his steeled manner. “Don’t leave,” Athenna cried softly, a tear ran down her face. Her bare pale arm was stretched out, searching for him. He pulled off his gloves. Warmth was a necessity and he refused to add anything less to her already numb fingers. He grasped her hand between both of his. She wasn’t just cold, she was frozen. Her fingers barely moved inside the heat cage he created.

Cullen could feel himself invading the tent that was needed hence that she had a possibility of survival. While he wished to sit with her through it, he realized it would not help matters. If he were being honest with himself, the vision of her, tear streaked and freezing, calling out to him, was a memory that would surely haunt him the longer he lingered. He loosened his grip, “the healers need to work,” but she clutched tighter.

“Please,” she croaked.

He vowed only what he allowed himself, “I won’t be far, I promise.” She opened her mouth, only to inhale shakily. Faded violet stared passed him, far away. A tear still managed to slip from her unblinking eyelid. Cullen slipped his fingers away to wipe it from her cheek. Her eyes rolled back, and she was passed out.

The healers were already covering her in layers of furs and blankets. He allowed the workers to take up the space. He gripped one of the healers by the arm, “If there’s anything you require, you need not hesitate to ask,” he spoke quickly and quietly.

“Aye, ser, we’ll do our best,” Cullen let go and exited the tent.

* * *

Athenna was placed into a stable condition thanks to the healers but she remained unconscious. She received three broken ribs and severe internal bleeding. She was severely dehydrated and caught some frost bite in a couple toes; luckily the healers were able to warm her before any amputations were necessary. The Shaman informed Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen they did all they could, and it was up to Athenna now to awake.

“She didn’t just dance with death, they tangoed. An hour or two and we might not have been able to save her,” the Shaman was rubbing her hand in her apron. Cullen’s throat tightened. If he didn’t look when he did, found Athenna when he did…had he not fought both Josephine and Leliana, the situation would have been a lot different. Leliana loped off without another word and it took everything for Cullen not to bolt after her; take her by the shoulders, show her Athenna, how she was living because of he, Cassandra, and Rylen. But he knew better than to gloat, for he saw Leliana cared about Athenna.

All the leaders came to a consensus that it would be best to keep her out of sight of the gawking of their followers. The fact that Athenna was found alive was enough to ignite the hope thought lost with the avalanche. The healers tent would be needed for more immediate concerns of the Inquisition’s following as well as a morgue. Without much consideration of what he would do after, Cullen immediately suggested moving Athenna to the tent he already set up for himself. She needed it more than him and he wouldn’t sleep anyway; not with all the work that was to be done keeping the Inquisition from keeling over. Cullen was given his own tent because he was of course the only male of the leaders and he need not burden either Leliana or Josephine with his night terrors. Thankfully no one bothered to argue but he did earn a suggestive smirk from Rylen. He silenced his lieutenant with a glare, claiming he would build another tent when he the time.

Cullen placed guard rotations at the entrance of his—or rather, Athenna’s—tent. The Shaman regularly checked in as Athenna was running a fever from the dehydration, changing the snow in the compress on her forehead. They could only feed her at intervals, whenever she showed signs of any consciousness. The Healers crushed biscuits with water into a paste before placing it into a syringe which they pushed into her mouth, making sure she swallowed. Athenna did need to wake up soon or else she would die of malnourishment. The paste was the only thing keeping her from starving to death.

The members of her inner circle all visited like the Shaman, some prayed (Vivienne and Cassandra), others spoke to her (Varric, Dorian, Sera, and Bull with his chargers), and the rest were silent (Solas and Blackwall). Leliana did not visit but Josephine had, keeping a grip on her friend’s hand while she talked to her quietly. Cullen was hesitant to see Athenna; the sight of her-- pale skin, shallow cheeks, and quivering pants—already hurt him enough. The guilt weighed in the back of his mind; if the roles were reversed, surely, she would visit him, wouldn’t she? Thus why can’t he do the same for her? She needed the support of her friends and colleagues more than ever. And yet, he just couldn’t bring himself to confront her unresponsive corpse. Despite this, he didn’t stray from the tent, noting every time the flap opened from a distance.

Cullen successfully busied himself with enough distractions to keep occupied for the next two days after her rescue.  When Cassandra and Josephine weren’t with Athenna, they were arguing with Cullen and Leliana. There were not enough provisions to stay in the camp for much longer, they needed to move, but where would they go? With the chantry’s denouncement of the Inquisition, a safe refuge would be hard to come by. Cullen suggested heading towards the Hinterlands, at least dropping off a few more refugees in the crossroads before settling north, between Crestwood and Redcliffe; at least they would be out of the snow. Leliana and Josephine both rejected the plan and ordered for them to return to Orlais, Josephine apparently was owed favors to her on behalf of the Inquisition; there was a small town outside Val Royeaux that could house the Inquisition. Cassandra argued to keep moving north towards the free marches, they could all be a safe distance away from the Chantry and perhaps settle in one of the villages near Nevarra. The one issue the four could agree on was that they all disagreed.

Cullen stormed off from the group first. He could no longer stand the constant bickering; his patience reached a furious peak. His feet stomped off before anything he’d regret came out of his mouth. Using the anger in stride, he opened the flaps to Athenna’s tent without thinking much on it. Candlelight flickered against the tentative walls, and it was much warmer in there than anywhere else in camp. What little Cullen kept still laid on the opposing end of the tent. But all he could see was her; wrapped up in layers and layers of quilts, furs, and blankets. Her breaths were no longer struggling, her chest rose and fell slowly with sleep. Heat returned to her cheeks, but she was drenched in sweat. It was peaceful, but Cullen knew that she was still fighting for her life.

Dorian cleared his throat from the chair next to her bed and he raised an eyebrow. Cullen stuttered back a step; he hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone. But he should have known: Dorian was with Athenna more than Cassandra or Josephine. The mage appeared tired with a book in one hand and her unresponsive fingers in the other.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen apologized tightly, “I didn’t realize anyone was in here, I’ll just go—” he turned to leave.

“Don’t be ridiculous, commander,” he froze and focused back on the tevinter, “the more the merrier,” Dorian said with faint enthusiasm. He was with Athenna when she ordered her squad to leave. The man didn’t say much until she was rescued. They grew close in Redcliffe, he grasped that much. It took them so little time to build trust and friendship, it frustrated him more than it should have. The jealousy towards Dorian took a backseat to Cullen’s unrequited feelings for Athenna. Considering it took weeks before Athenna would even give Cullen the time of day.

He pulled up a chair next to Dorian, noting the small glass bottle nestled by one of the legs; lyrium. Cullen swallowed a tremble that nearly ripped through him when he spotted it. He tended to stray away from any of the lyrium supplies; keeping as far from temptation as he could. Peeking at the blue liquid now, it only sang louder for him in his time of weakness. He tore his gaze back to Athenna. Dorian settled the book on his lap and reached for the soaked compress that laid gingerly on her forehead. He looked down at it, watching it glow in his touch. Ice froze over the pack and he returned it to the place on her head. She didn’t react at all and that left knots in Cullen’s stomach.

“How is she?” He inquired, but already knowing the answer.

Dorian kept staring at Athenna, “No changes. While the rest of her body needs heat, her fever needs ice but most heat escapes from the head. It’s entirely frustrating,” he now waved his hand over the quilts and Cullen could feel the fire from the spell. He tried not to flinch at it; with all the magic that he is surrounded by daily, he still cannot shake the feeling of it, unwanted claws of mana scratching at him, the need to Silence it all unbearable. But he saw it was helping, she looked significantly better than before despite Dorian’s update.

“She doesn’t deserve this” Cullen spoke after a lengthy pause. Dorian stopped his movements over the blankets and turned his stare back to the commander.

“That is the understatement of the century, my friend,” Dorian nearly hissed. Cullen recoiled, shying away from his sudden anger. Still he continued, “She deserves _better_. The Inquisition doesn’t deserve her. I may go as far to say that _Thedas_ doesn’t deserve her. I’ve never met someone so…” he shook his head, hesitant on his words. Cullen would have been happy to fill them in; Determined? Fierce? Brilliant? “…kind,” he finished. The commander raised an eyebrow at the mage. It’s not the first word he would have used to describe her, not that it wasn’t accurate but perhaps obvious. “Andraste’s flaming sword, we can’t go anywhere without her turning to help someone so much as _breathing_ in our general vicinity, unprovoked I might add. She just…approaches people and asks them how she can help.” Dorian frowned at her now. Cullen remembered reading the reports of her help with the refugees and unmoving dedication rescuing the soldiers from the Fallow Mire but listening to it from Dorian made the words into stories. He only wished he could have seen her, to see it himself how much more wonderful she was without the policies of the war room or athletics of the training field. Just to watch her be Athenna is something he craved far more than anything else.

“In the same breath, she will take down someone with a flick of her wrist and a blade in the eye at the first smell of depravity. She despises those who undermine the helpless. It clouds the rest of her judgements and my goodness, she is stubborn! When Athenna Lavellan puts her mind to something, she does not rest.” Dorian grabbed her hand again, clenching. “Whether or not she was sent by the Maker, her Elven creators, or who in the void knows! Thedas does not deserve this woman,” Dorian spoke each word slowly with prominence. His eyes lit with glory as he preached about her. 

Cullen never realized the depth of respect Dorian had for Athenna, “You must care for her deeply,” he began but was quickly interrupted.

“I love her.” Cullen’s gloves crinkled into a fist and he felt the declaration punch him in the gut. Dorian loved Athenna. He could not imagine what crossed his expression, or how those words would take such a toll. Such little time and he claimed to love her. Did Dorian even realize what he was saying? He took in the commander’s grimace and rolled his eyes, “Not like that, relax!” The man threw up his arms, “I would never dream of getting in the way of her competition.” The back of his neck warmed while the mage smiled playfully, but it wasn’t polite. Cullen gulped at the increasing understanding that Dorian’s interests leaned less from Athenna and more towards her admirers; most of them he would assume were male. _Oh dear_ , he thought dreadfully as the man inexplicably leaned closer. Well…at least he didn’t have to worry about Dorian and Athenna being close for _that_ reason. But it mattered not, for Cullen was not hers, she could have whoever could be deemed worthy.

Still, Cullen cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably which earned a hearty chuckle from the mage, “Don’t worry, commander, I rather like my head where it is.” His glanced to the bed.

Before he could ask Dorian what he meant, the blankets stirred. Athenna’s incoherent mumbling pulled them from their conversation. “Thenn?” Dorian grasped her shoulder lightly. Her eyebrows furrowed, and foreign words slipped from her mouth. Cullen understood none of it besides that it was elven. She sounded worried, solemn. Dorian still grabbed the full syringe next to the bed, propping her mouth open. “Here, love,” He only pushed a subtle amount onto her tongue followed by some water with what appeared to be elfroot and spindleweed leaves inside, “that’s it,” he encouraged, spouting more. Glassy eyes opened if only for a moment before rolling back again.

Dorian sighed, pushing Athenna’s hair back. Cullen only felt the awful heaviness of uselessness on his shoulders. He was no healer but seeing even the use of magic and the Inquisition’s best healers having only put a temporary hold on her life was discouraging. “I need a few minutes,” the mage stood, “keep her company, will you?” It was not as much of a request as it was a demand.

Once the flaps to the tent were closed, Cullen scooted over to Dorian’s seat. Athenna remained in her sleep, her fingers lay flat on her stomach where Dorian left them.

If it were anyone else but Athenna Lavellan who walked out of the Fade, they could all be dead. It was a terrible burden to carry but she acted as if it were no burden at all. She took her fate with her as she climbed the ranks of respect and gratitude of her followers.

Her mark did not glow as fiercely as when they found her; it slept with her now, the power lie dormant until it would surely be roused. _If she lives_ , Cullen couldn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind. Once it did, he couldn’t control the urge to reach out and take her marked hand in his, opening her palm into the sky.

Cullen could now fully revel in the mark without worrying of Athenna catching his gawking; which he was. The mark wasn’t as intimidating as she made it seem all those times; one could mistake it for a simple scar. Athenna could have cut herself with one of her daggers, gashed it while climbing the mountains of the hinterlands, slipping and falling on glass in Haven’s kitchens. Maker, he would have preferred any of those compared to what that mark was from. For Cullen knew, deep in his soul, it was not a gift. A gift would not hurt or scare her as much as that blasted mark did. While she used it to close the rifts and the breach, it was not without a price. The haunted expression she wore after Redcliffe and before she closed the breach proved as much.

He traced a light finger against the white puncture inside her palm; it was barely severe in terms of depth. The skin inside felt only a little rougher compared to the outside. He couldn’t help but wonder at how dainty her fingers were; how they could hold her daggers and throw them with as much grace. How she fought hard to keep it together was not without difficulty. Dorian was right; Thedas didn’t deserve her.

Athenna’s face was still blank, swimming in slumber, unchanged. When all else seemed lost, even when there was much to be grateful for, the Inquisition would be darker without her there. Cullen bent down, forehead just touching the mark, and did the one thing he always did when all else failed; he prayed. His voice was gentle, murmuring against the smooth skin of her palm. “ _Maker, my enemies are abundant._

_Many are those who rise up against me._

_But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,_

_Should they set themselves against me,_ ” the familiar verse from the chant of light tumbled off his tongue quickly, not wanting to jostle the quietness of the space. He inhaled deeply a few times, facing her before continuing,

“ _In the long hours of the night,_

_When hope has abandoned me,_

_I will see the stars and know,_

_Your Light remains._ ”

The Maker does not work miracles loudly, Cullen accepted this. Just because he prayed did not mean Athenna would be revived. It only revealed a plea from a man who wanted his friend, a woman he cared entirely too much for, to get better. He did not pray for her to wake for the Inquisition, for her clan, or even her friends. It was wholly selfish that he prayed she would wake up for him because he asked but it was candor. Many begged for her recovery, was it too much to hope she get well for his sake too?

“Please,” he whispered, “she deserved better.” There weren’t many reasons for why he pressed his lips to her mark if not his own selfish indulgence; for he would carry this sacred moment whether she lived or died. Maybe it was one last call to Athenna, to assure her someone was waiting on the other side, that her whole life was ahead of her. Maybe it was his feelings making themselves known for the first and last time. Or maybe it was none of those things, just the instinct of the moment.

Cullen lifted his neck up then, keeping Athenna’s hand and closing his fingers around hers. Dorian entered the tent a few minutes later, visibly better than he was before. Cullen got up without another word, for if he stayed any longer, he would turn into a pleading blubbering mess. He could not subject the poor mage to that kind of treachery.

Instead, Cullen took a seat by the fire, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at the flames. He stayed like that, not saying a word, for the rest of the night.

* * *

Daybreak glared harshly, shining sunlight off the ice of the mountains that settled as the border between Ferelden and Orlais. Most the inquisition still slept soundly in the camp but Leliana kept her eyes on the Herald’s tent. She could not deny the initial guilt she felt scratching in the back of her thoughts as she watched Cullen carry her, half dead and frozen to the healers.

Could Leliana blame herself for needing to move forward without the Herald? She was the reason the rest of the Inquisition lived, this was their second chance. Maybe a part of her didn’t want to believe the Herald was alive, who could survive that? Someone with astonishingly impeccable luck or unspeakable power of a higher entity surely. If the Herald was truly Andraste’s prophet, she would have survived anyway. The fact that swims between the brink of the Fade and her Beyond is nothing short of a miracle. Cullen simply helped her the rest of the way; she surely would have made it to the camp on her own.

Guilt was fickle though, it did not leave with a logical assumption. It stayed and festered until Leliana could focus on nothing else besides the Herald. She huffed angrily, throwing her cloak on before gingerly stepping past the still sleeping Josephine. When Leliana exited, no one remained out by the dying fire besides Cullen. She exhaled sharply at the man who had his head slung over one of the makeshift benches in front of the fire; still clothed in full armor.

Leliana couldn’t fault the man for wishing to save the Herald. It is woven in his nature; to protect. Despite his minor infatuation with her, the amount of respect he had for the Herald as a leader and fighter broke through any argument Leliana would have made to keep moving forward. But of course, she would not give him the satisfaction of being justified, it would go straight to his head.

The air inside the Herald’s tent was warmer than anything from the outside. The walls were well insulated. The healers had put down many rocks to hold down the material of the tent’s outer walls; trapping any of the available heat inside. She slept peacefully, lines that drew intensely on her face when she worked were erased. No one would believe how sick she was.

Leliana sat in the chair beside the bed, letting her expression of steel melt. No matter what she thought of the Herald before closing the breach, things changed when she saved them all. It was uncanny, how similar she was to Gwen and not just because they were both elven. While their personalities were vastly different, they both held the same heroic idea: fight to save every last life they could: be that spare any enemy that wasn’t beyond help or bust down walls to rescue a friend. It was a vision to behold and Leliana could happily say she believed the Herald was ready. She would wake, of that Leliana was entirely certain.

Still she bowed her head in prayer, letting her words be soft as the warmth of the room could not be corrupted by anymore negative energies.

_“’Truly, the Maker has called you, just as He called me,_

_To be a Light for your People._

_The host you see before you march,_

_Bearing His will north, where we shall deliver it_

_To Minrathous city of magisters, and we shall tear down_

_The unassailable gates, and set all slaves free’"_

The spymaster waited a few minutes, rather enjoying the quietness. Soon, she found herself speaking again, whether the Herald heard her, it may not have mattered. “I know you don’t believe you were sent by the Maker, but you don’t need to. Andraste told Shartan that his heroics were His will and he only wished to save his people, just like you. But he allowed Andraste to fight alongside him for they shared the same motive. I admire that in Shartan just as I admire it in you,” the Herald did not respond to the woman talking but Leliana had to admit she did feel better. Satisfied, she stood from the chair and lit the candles around the room, hoping it could encourage the Herald out of her slumber.

Before leaving, Leliana turned back to her worship, “May your creators and Andraste give you the strength to recover. We need you…Inquisitor Lavellan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was all types of feels I was so not prepared to write but it was demanded! Then again, if you didn’t come for the fluff…I have no idea why you’re still here! Lots of praying this chapter, but its Cullen and Leliana, I imagine they both pray a lot anyway! Quizzy wakes up next chapter and we can get a move on to the Skyest of Holds!


	10. The Face of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. Creaking Emotions- Dexter Britain  
> 2\. Love and War- Fleurie  
> 3\. Winterspell- Two Steps from Hell  
> 4\. Light Bridges- Dexter Britain  
> 5\. Before the Dawn- Dragon Age Inquistion OS  
> 6\. Breathe- Two Steps from Hell  
> 7\. The Time to Run (Finale)- Dexter Britain

 

The feeling of being close but still too far away was one Athenna knew well. When she hid in the shadows, light still stood between her and her foe. Whenever she swam through the lakes her clan would pass, she would stay just below the blanket of the surface. And lastly, never in her wildest dreams would she find such a wonderous sight of fire burning amid a horrid storm but letting her knees buckle underneath her, unable to go on. Now, when she was gaining her senses back, did she fathom she had lived, if only just.

Athenna laid still in the cot, staring up at the ceiling of a tent. She didn’t dare move, for fear it was all an illusion, Fen’harel’s horrid idea of a joke to bring her back into the living world—if just for an instant—before snatching it all away. It could have been hours until she allowed her gaze to take in her environment. The sun tried to break through the creases and gaps of the tent’s walls, but it was dim. A few candles were lit in the room and it was scarcely filled.

A table in the corner caught her attention though. Some parchments scattered across the surface and a silver helm—forged into a lion’s head—was nestled on top. Her stare fell onto the shield that laid against the legs, tall, proud, glowing the Inquisition’s emblem. Absently, her fingers tried to grasp for her cloak but all she was met with was bandages and…fur?

First, she investigated the bandages, hesitantly lifting the mountains of covers that swaddled her. She was bandaged from the waist up. She wore breaches that were soft and thick, not the ones she had been wearing. Curiously, she probed the bandages and hissed when her finger dented a sore spot around her rib cage. This should have discouraged her from further rustling but so many covers, it was too damn _hot_. Athenna set aside some of the blankets, saving her cloak which had been in the middle of the pile and then reaching for the furs behind her.

Now she explored the other cloak she was laying on. It was rather large, the coarse fur tickling at her skin while she kneaded her fingers through it. Something about it was very familiar. Athenna raised it to her nose and sniffed just enough to catch a scent she had memorized from the few times she had smelled it; soap and the forest. If only she could figure out _what part_ of the forest. It barely misted her thoughts but it all clicked, the memories washed into her vision; Coryphaeus, the archdemon, falling, waking in pain, her father’s voice guiding her, Cullen’s skin under her fingertips. But most of all the cold is what she remembered, the numbing, unbearable, destitute cold.

Athenna shivered, shoving the awful thoughts to the deepest remnants of her memories. However, she knows the images will be branded into her nightmares for a long time.

Her pointed ears wiggled at the sounds coming from outside the tent. The hustle and bustle of her Inquisition. Although this was a different ambience from Haven. Haven had the excited chatters of the townspeople, the usual jarring rings of blades from the training field, the constant rolling of wooden wheels against the frozen dirt, Maryden’s faint singing from the inn; busy. The camp outside was not filled with the well-known resonances that told her she was home; there were more voices, clamoring orders, prayers, and hymns. Many footsteps chomped the icy ground and metal equipment was dragged through the area. This wasn’t busy; busy implied there was stability amongst the chaos. It was not; this feeling, the dread that seeped through the walls of her little sanctuary, the sounds which filled her ears to the point of not being able to concentrate on anything else all pointed to one word; frantic.

Without taking account the extent of her injuries, Athenna threw the blankets off her legs and swung them over the bed. Her toes touched something she was not expecting; little silky stalks from the ground caressed the bottom of her feet. She looked down in shock to see grass. As she studied the room more, she found there was no snow in the tent at all. As the blankets slid from the rest of her body, Athenna gathered it wasn’t just the blankets keeping her warm, the room itself was entirely too hot, unnaturally so. It had to be a spell; Dorian.

It would be like him to emerge whenever his name was so much as whispered but it gave Athenna the oddest tremor when the flaps to her tent opened violently. He had been speaking but he stopped mid-sentence at the sight of her. His expression flickered for a moment but Athenna caught it; the shattering relief of someone who was so tirelessly worried. But he set his mouth into a stern line, mustache thinning the slightest.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Dorian demanded, brow raised. Her shoulders locked in place underneath his glare.

The words were supposed to sound just as determined and fierce but fell short, only tumbling out breathlessly hoarse, “The Inquisition is struggling, and I need to—"

Dorian completed the thought even if it was not hers, “Stay in bed, what an excellent idea. I’m going to get the shaman. Don’t move,” he growled the last bit. Athenna huffed but the mage already left the tent.

He returned a few minutes later with an older human woman; she wore an apron that was painted with spots of green, red, and brown. She must have been working vigorously to help those who were injured. Athenna felt guilt that she was taking up the woman’s time. The Shaman greeted her peacefully, proceeding to place firm fingers on the side of her wrist, muttering, counting Athenna’s pulse. She asked Athenna questions; did she feel faint? have any hallucinations? does it hurt here, here, or here?

Athenna did her best not to fidget during the examination, her gaze flit to the tent’s exit every so often. However, whenever she did, she earned a disgruntled clearing of the throat from Dorian.

“How long did I sleep?” Athenna inquired. She still struggled to find her voice. The Shaman passed her a waterskin and ordered to take small sips. Athenna obeyed, welcoming the water in happy sips.

“Four days, my lady,” the Shaman replied after watching her drink. Athenna choked, Dorian gave her a solid pat on the back.

“Four days!?” she all but screeched.

“Yes, Herald. Please keep drinking,” the Shaman brushed off Athenna’s disbelief, pushing the skin back to her lips. Four days?! That’s way too long! How many were dead? Had the Inquisition come up with a plan to move forward? Was anyone in her inner circle injured?

“My friends,” she said between sips.

“They’re all fine,” The woman began unwrapping her bandages. Athenna winced when she felt the adhesive peeling off her sensitive skin. Dorian politely turned away, poking his head outside the tent. She strained to recognize the conversation but didn’t. It was not one she knew, perhaps a guard? Athenna hissed when the woman had probed the dark purple bruises just underneath her breasts.

“You cracked your ribs my lady, you must use extreme care when bending,” she answered Athenna’s unasked question.

She hesitated, “anything else?”

“Bad dehydration but once you have a full meal, you’ll be fine. I still recommend resting for the next few days,” the Shaman rubbed a salve over some of the cuts on her stomach and proceeded to wrap new bandages around her ribs again. Athenna was about to protest but the woman gestured to silence, “what you do with that advice is up to you, Herald. Just be wary of your recovery time.” Athenna sighed heavily, she was right.

“Thank you,” Athenna responded with instead.

The Shaman smiled and bowed. Dorian stood still until the woman left. He maintained a hard stare and she felt colder.

“You’re going to be waiting awhile if you expect me to regret sending you away,” Athenna quirked.

“I can’t fathom why you treat your life so carelessly,” Dorian articulated lowly. Athenna remembered the extreme resistance she met when telling him to leave her when Coryphaeus and his archdemon were in sight. She refused to jeopardize more lives, only one person needed to stay behind to load the trebuchet and Athenna was who Coryphaeus wanted. The mage very nearly had a dagger thrown at him to get him to go.

“I couldn’t lose more of my people, Dorian,” Athenna retorted, trying her best to walk on eggshells. He was getting visibly more upset and she was sick of hurting people.

“What if I wanted to take the risk? You could have made it if we stayed, you could have…” he trailed off as he pushed one of his palms into his eyes.

“I _did_ make it,” she reminded him, gesturing to the bandages. He glowered at her and she shrugged.

“On the brink of death—”

“I’m here aren’t—”

“You’re not expendable, Athenna!” he shouted at her. The tent went silent after that, Athenna tried to hide the pain from his outburst. She thought Dorian of all people would see past the Anchor. That’s all the Inquisition knew when they saw her; the elf with the glowing hand that closed rifts. She was never more than that, _Sylaise give me strength, I want to be so much more_ , Athenna thought solemnly.

“Because I have the mark,” she muttered, glaring at the silver sketch in her palm, “I’m not to be gambled, correct?”

Dorian sputtered, “Are you being serious?” When he saw her furrow her brows at him, his shoulders relaxed, “idiot,” he breathed.

“Excuse me?” Athenna shot back.

“You’re an idiot,” he repeated proudly this time, “you think you matter to nobody? This tent has never been empty for more than five minutes since you were brought here,” he paced, “All of us; Solas, Vivienne, Blackwall, Varric, Sera, Cassandra, Bull, Josie!” he listed off her comrades. She could just imagine each of them visiting, worrying over her, and it broke her heart. She didn’t want to chance anyone else’s life but in doing so, she let everyone of her friends down. “Maker, Leliana and Cullen were nothing except desperately praying over you!” Leliana _and_ Cullen? It was hard enough to believe Cullen went out in the storm to save her but that he prayed for her was something fictional. Athenna’s fingers twitched around the lion fur she forgot was still in her grasp. _And yet_ …

“I didn’t realize I meant so much to all of you…” she finished her thoughts in a mumble.

The man just shook his head, “You…are impossible,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She was stunned into a stone, this was not the man she remebered. Dorian always played his feelings off as aloof, that nothing ever bothered him. Nonetheless, Athenna returned his embrace, holding her friend tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Now the man chuckled, “that’s more like it.” He pushed back her shoulders and grinned, “keep up that attitude, Herald.”

Athenna cocked her head to the side. Before she could wonder what he meant, the tent opened.

“Dorian? I heard—” Josephine had started until she rested on Athenna’s still form. The elf held up a weak wave. “By the maker,” she shuttered. Athenna watched as Josephine all but bolted across the space, gripping the woman into a strong hug. She watched Dorian who just gestured to the Ambassador. _I told you so_.

“You gave us a scare, Herald,” Athenna peeked from Josephine’s shoulders to see Leliana had glided in silently, a reserved smirk sat upon her lips.

“Does it hurt? Do you need anything? What can I do?” the ambassador began inquiring frantically after releasing her.

“Josie, Relax, I’m fine, really,” Athenna mustered all her strength to sit up straight, despite the protest of her ribs. The other woman didn’t appear convinced especially when she winced at the movement, her brows crinkled together. Leliana stood, rubbing her hands together absently as she looked away from the scene. “What’s the situation?” Athenna got right down to business. Josephine muttered something about getting the others. Dorian got up and left with her.

Leliana listed off the casualties, no one she personally knew from Haven. The people she initially saved lived through the journey with only a few scrapes and bruises. Roderick passed away the first night they set up camp and Athenna felt her throat thicken. If not for the high chancellor, the Inquisition would have surely perished. She would make sure his efforts were not forgotten.

The Inquisition was running out of supplies fast, they needed to move on from their current predicament, but they had nowhere to go. The leaders were all in disagreements on what to do. This was a really bad time for the Inquisition to have separate leadership instead of one sole person of authority. Athenna tried racking her brain for any place they could settle, but she was drawing blanks. No one in the camp knew how to hunt properly or even proper survival skills. They were stuck.

“I could teach some of our men to hunt, at least get food and blankets for the Inquisition,” Athenna threw out the suggestion. Leliana’s mouth thinned and she watched the ground.

“That would only be a temporary fix, Herald. It would take more time and resources that we don’t have,” Leliana stated calmly but Athenna could sense the helplessness in her tone now that it was the two of them.

The tent opened again, and Cassandra entered. Her face was contorted in its typical grimace until she saw Athenna. Her cold exterior melted when she saw the Herald. “Hey Cass,” Athenna croaked.

“Herald,” she greeted as evenly as she could, “are you feeling well?” Whatever response she thought up fell out of her mouth. Someone else shuffled in behind Cassandra and Athenna’s heart went into her throat at the other visitor. Cullen was visibly tired, sagging his weight onto one foot. He didn’t smile but his face eased, relief. He looked different without his cloak, it nearly reminded her of his red templar counterpart from the dark future. She fought off a tremor that threatened her arms. The grip on his sword was taunter than usual as they all awaited her answer.

“I—uh…yes, I am feeling better, thank you,” she let the words rush out in one breath, as she averted her gawking to the rest of her advisors. When she was met with silence, she grasped they were expecting something else from her. But she had no idea, if the Inquisition’s survival skills were second to none, then they needed to move on. “There’s nowhere nearby?” she wondered aloud.

Cullen spoke up, “I’ve sent soldiers to scout in all different directions but so far nothing,” his scar tugged with his mouth as it thinned out, “our best bet is to keep moving east until we hit Lake Calenhad. We must get away from the cold. That is our biggest factor in the death toll.”

Athenna uttered the words as the comprehension dawned on her, “We’re going to lose more people, no matter what.”

“Yes,” the word was full of remorse. Athenna nodded, a deep sensation of misery settling in her chest.

They all took their leave but Athenna called out to her commander. He stopped immediately, he fell from his business-like indifference; changing to a lax relief again. Athenna gathered his cloak and offered it back to him, smiling shyly. As he gripped it, she trapped his wrist, fingers slightly covering the ingrained sword of mercy on his gauntlet. “You came for me,” she whispered, “when I had every reason to be dead.” Athenna gazed up at him, smile faltering, her emotions from that night boiling under the surface. It took everything not to let him see her despair.

“No one gets left behind,” he echoed the same phrase she used on him when he thanked her for rescuing the men from the Fallow Mire. His tired irises grew slightly as he withdrew from her grasp. He clicked his mantel back into place and started towards the tent’s entrance. Athenna held back a sigh. _But why?_ She wanted to demand. As if her thoughts were out loud, Cullen hesitated before leaving and turned to her. “You stayed behind,” he muttered, “you could have—” he struggled with the words. Cullen turned his stare away for a split second. His expression was something she had not seen previously, something that banged hard against her very soul. It was tormenting. He took in a deep breath, letting himself relax, “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again,” gold burned with promise, “you have my word, Athenna.” He left abruptly then, and she stared after him dumbly.

 _You have my word, Athenna._ While his vow dug deep inside her chest and pulled out a warmth she thought was lost, this was something else. The threshold of their professional relationship was in the budding of an actual friendship and it had her heart aching. For she knew his protection crossed the lines of what was needed for the Inquisition, if not just a little bit of personal desire.

It was but a small factor, the way he approached her as Athenna and not the Herald. It made her come to another epiphany; the Herald of Andraste was dead. She was buried under Haven but Athenna was still alive. It was who she had to be, Athenna Lavellan. The Inquisition didn’t need a symbol, they needed survival.

* * *

The next day flew by with visits from all her friends and of course the Shaman. Athenna was confined to the tent but she began to walk around for small pockets of time. If she knew anything about the shemlen, it was how they kept their privacy sacred. It still did not stop her curiosity from peaking as she rifled through the papers on the opposing desk. If she were to be stuck inside the tent all day, she needed something to do.

It was clear this tent was meant to be Cullen’s and she felt guilty for taking it from him. Old reports were held together carefully, in no certain order. A map of Ferelden was spread out underneath the items on the desk, different lines directing troops, marks on points of interest she recognized in her travels.

Something else slipped into her focus, letters. To Cullen or from Cullen, she even spotted her own lazy scrawl in there. She was surprised he kept them, these letters were from months ago. Did he keep all of her letters? Of course she did not read the letters that weren’t hers but the one on top was unfinished; many efforts at starting but interrupted by splotches of ink, she could just barely make out the words.

_Dear Mia,_

_~~Haven has fallen, The Inquisition and myself have made it out in one~~ _

_~~I know I don’t write often but there was an …incident~~ _

_~~Don’t worry for me, I’m fine.~~ _

The list of attempts at writing goes on and Athenna couldn’t help but wonder at who this person was. A foreign note grated on her nerves, something she was not familiar with. How he tried to write to this person—this woman, Mia. Mia was a shemlen female name, wasn’t it? Athenna gnawed on her lip and turned away from the desk. The Dread Wolf was surely laughing at her now for snooping on the man who captured her interest.

With those uncomfortable thoughts, she sat back down on the bed but didn’t lie down. Athenna knew she couldn’t stay in there much longer before resorting to tearing her own hair out. She gradually nestled on her hunting boots that someone had left at the edge of her bed. Throwing her dark cloak over her shoulders, she hesitantly peeked out of the tent.

The camp bustled without giving her much attention, but a throat clearing had her turning to the guard, not one she recognized. His expression was a mix of firm and unsure, young, no older than twenty years of age.

“Herald,” he greeted, slightly leaning in front of her. _Unbelievable_ , Athenna thought grimly.

“Soldier,” she answered, “What…exactly are your orders, if you don’t mind me asking?” The young man hesitated, contemplating. Athenna kept watchful look on anyone who could dare come by to question who he was talking to. He tilted in so only Athenna could hear him.

“Only certain persons are allowed in and…out of the tent,” the guard took a thoughtful pause to give her an idea. Athenna pursed her lips and nodded. Cullen’s overprotectiveness had not gone unnoticed by even his men.

“So, the Commander must think me made of glass, correct?” Athenna let the irritation seep out and it came out a little sharper than intended. The man recoiled lightly.

“I—ah, I’m not sure about that, my lady, I am just—” he stuttered, easily crushed under the pressure of her accusation. She sighed, placing a firm but calm hold on his forearm, letting his ramblings stop.

“Following orders, I understand, soldier,” she tried to smooth out any hardness in her tone and watched the boy relax. “Bring anybody with you?” she quirked.

The young man sagged his shoulders, nearly imitating Cullen with his grip on the pommel of his own sword. “Aye, my little sister, your grace,” he said, a hint of pain made his words croak.

“Is she alright?” Athenna leaned closer, hushing to a whisper.

The man gnawed on his chapped lips, “she’s cold and hungry, just like everyone else.

Athenna nodded as she watched the boy try to put on a brave face. The hurt beat in just a trace behind his dark expression. She could no longer sit by while these people suffered. While the leadership argued, they needed a saving grace, a light to guide them to a new home.

“You want your sister fed and clothed, boy?” Athenna reuqested gently.

“Yes, ma’am,” he countered sure and quick.

“Then you must help me,” she stressed the words, “I can sneak out of here no problem to hunt, but I need you to keep any of my circle or the Shaman from coming into the tent.”

The guard sighed. He scanned the camp. Athenna gnawed on her lip and prayed her offering was enough to get out. “What do I say?” he wondered.

“Get creative, boy, tell them I don’t want any visitors, too sick, puking my guts out, got it?”

“…yes,” he stifled, clearly afraid. Athenna reached out again and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

“I’ll be back,” Athenna promised. She knew she couldn’t be long. Especially if Cullen were to approach the tent at all, the word of one of his men that the Herald did not wish to be seen may not be enough. She made a note to pardon the soldier if anything were to happen.

Athenna swiftly grabbed her cloak and enveloped herself within the shadows outside the tent, the camp paid her no mind. It was the first time she got a clear image of the Inquisition in its struggle. Mother Giselle and a few of the chantry sisters tended to those who lay in their struggle still. Leliana was crouched over a map with two scouts flanking her. Bull and the chargers were moving what seemed to be food supplies to a tent farther down the camp. Josephine wrote, her perfect brows tugging together to focus.

It was difficult to navigate through the makeshift forts, so many had been built in such little time. Though she remained invisible, Athenna still jumped every time someone brushed past her, but they were all too busy to pay her mind. Despite the fact she was pleased to escape Cullen, there was also a hint of worry. Where could he have gone off too?

 _Stop. Being. A. Hen_ , she chided herself. With success, Athenna spotted the armory. Harritt nearly jumped out of his skin when she appeared from her cloak. The sword he had been working on fell into the bed of snow under his table.

“Andraste’s Knickers, Herald!” He bent over the surface and took a few deep breaths.

“Sorry, Harritt,” Athenna wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, keeping the hood up and clicking the Inquisition emblem into place. “I need a bow.” She resisted the urge to peek over her shoulder, only a few people walked past and paid them no mind.

The older human raised a brow, “Shouldn’t you be resting?” nevertheless he moved to grab one of the bows resting above one of the workstations.

“If I can stand, I can hunt,” she scoffed as she plucked an empty quiver from a nearby barrel. Athenna shuffled through the arrows and picked out the irons; they would make the cleanest kills.

Harritt was close enough to give her the bow but held it back. “Does anyone know where you are?”

Athenna resisted sighing sharply. She was not a child and certainly did not need to be doted on when there were people she could be helping instead. Still, “the guard outside my tent does,” she reached out and he still held the bow out of range. Athenna mimicked Cassandra’s disgusted noise.

“If the commander finds out about this…” his warning tone sent a small shiver up her arms. Still she took the weapon and clipped it onto her back.

“You don’t know a thing, Harritt,” Athenna mimicked him. 

“You’re bloody right I don’t,” he turned then, “it’s your funeral.” Athenna rolled her eyes and brushed out of the tent, slipping into the shadows, away from the camp and into the wilderness of the frost backs.

* * *

Like breathing was to living, the huntress was a necessary tool to the clan. She defends, protects, provides. Her rite of passage, the way of a huntress, was to kill the first animal she found. Most elves found wolves, occasionally bears. Athenna’s rite was particularly rare. She encountered an animal she had never seen previously. It was languid while it roamed in the trees beneath her. Like the beast, she stalked her prey silently. It was not a clean hunt, but it was her first. The roar of the lion still echoes every so often when she makes a clean kill.

The ram fell with an arrow to the eye; her tenth kill in the past hour. A breath wafted past her lips. The best way to hunt was to slay the game before it felt death. It was merciful and efficient. It was the same way she executed her enemies. Just because they chose the wrong side did not mean she should prolong their death.

Athenna found a lone tree to sit under and skin the fur off the game. The other pelts hung from her belt and the meat remained in a small bag she took from her tent.

The truth about death was hard; sometimes it was the only thing that could be done to protect. It was something she came to accept long ago. She learned the lesson when she was young, too young. The knife cut under the neck of the ram and her breath stopped in her throat. Her father’s deep purple irises reflected her tears streaked ones.

 _“Da’len,”_ his gasp sent her dagger tumbling into the snow. _“Run,”_ an outline was upon her, but before she could react, it was gone. Her heart pounded in her ears while she frantically searched for the enemy that did not come. It was several minutes until she gripped the blade she dropped. The sun hung low in the white sky, painting the picture of pink as it broke through the last of the clouds that laid across the horizon. This would be the last game she skinned prior to traveling back to camp.

Reluctantly, she walked back once the meat hung from her belt with the backpack slung over her shoulder. Athenna knew the scolding she would receive. It was not something that she could help, being Dalish. If she could function, she was not confined to sit and wait for something to happen. It was her duty. Even as the Herald of Andraste.

* * *

The camp had calmed slightly come her return. She did not shroud herself inside her cloak. However, when she entered the hub, the Inquisition halted at the sight of their Herald, on her feet, seemingly more alive than she had been. The world had ceased its turn, clouds still against the glow of the moon, shining a spotlight on her lone form. Some gaped, others just ignored her presence. Her stomach flipped, burning at the sight of the people watching her.  It was not just because they were staring, for she had grown used to it. They usually saw her as this clean, untainted goddess. Now she stood amongst them in dirt ruffled clothes with furs hanging off her belt, a bow strapped to her back and daggers at her sides. The growing silence clutched heavily onto the atmosphere. Still, she hesitantly began to unhook the pelts and distributed them to the older townsfolk; deliberately, as if trying not to disturb a sleeping predator. Those who received the fruits of her hunt muttered soundless thank you’s. She focused on those she was passing the game and pelts off to.

Just as she rounded to those around the fire, a sharp intake of breath made heads turn. Cullen stood with two men flanking. His face was full of outrage and then it twisted. Athenna froze under the scrutiny of his disapproval. A puff of breath passed through her clenched teeth, an argument was inevitable. Athenna only dwelled for a moment and then continued. She offered the pelt to a younger girl, no older than twelve years.

“Thank you, Herald,” her voice rang shakily. Her lips quivered up shyly as she took it. Her eyes matched the guard who still stood by her tent. Athenna’s chest tightened when she placed her hand atop of the girl’s.

“Stay warm, _Da’len_ ,” Athenna replied.

A pair of boots was crunching over, the last of fur sunk in between her squeezed fingers; a peace offering. Another weak breath, mouth opening. Athenna flinched, ready for a sharp reprimand.

“ _Shadows fall_

_And hope has fled_

_Steel your heart_

_The dawn will come_ ”

An accented voice sang faintly amongst the quietness. Athenna found mother Giselle, standing from a nearby tent where she had been comforting the wounded. The song was alien to Athenna for it was clearly a Chantry verse. The tune was gentle and flowed through the camp; the former distress lifted if only to settle into one mood; resolution.

Another voice rang; Leliana sat by Josephine. Her arms were wrapped firmly around her knees, but she sang wonderfully. Athenna nearly forgotten she was a bard. Her smirk shined with cautious hope while her singing carefully touched a wound that was still healing.

The people around her spymaster joined in the music, some voices were somber, others determined but chorused and meshed beautifully. In the same fashion the Inquisition worked together so effortlessly, their song was gloriously harmonious without even trying.

Athenna peered back at Cullen and he had cooled from what she assumed was anger. His mouth opened slightly, she stiffened. The lyrics were coated with a honeyed baritone and she gasped lightly when he also began to chant.

The camp had turned all their gazes to her again and she was hoping they also didn’t expect her to sing. Rather, a few people kneeled in front of her. Some scouts held their fists to their torsos. Athenna pulled the fur close, its earthy smell the only reminder that none of this was a dream. Once again, Athenna was thrust upon the pedestal that was the Herald of Andraste. Though this time was different; she still didn’t feel like the Herald, but they had seen her as more of the person she was previouse the Inquisition; just Athenna.

_The night is long_

_And the path is dark_

_Look to the sky_

_For one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

The silence following the final note was louder than the song itself. Something, she had to say _something_. But what in the void could she come up with? The only word that came to her mind was not enough to fill up an inspirational speech, only to do what was necessary: survive.

Instead, mother Giselle spoke to her from across the ocean of followers, “A little faith can be the ultimate demise of the eternal night.” The woman nodded and turned towards the wounded again. The camp thawed and little by little resumed its activities.

“Lethallan,” Solas’ quiet tone gave her a jolt, “a word,” he requested and moved on without giving her a chance to reply. Athenna quickly passed the pelt off to Cullen, not daring to find what he appeared. She disappeared into the night with her elven comrade, silencing any conversation that could happen.

* * *

“Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow,” Solas gazed thoughtfully into the blue flames he had created with his fingertips. Never could she imagine what becoming the Herald had meant; that she survived this far was a miracle. “By attacking the Inquisition, Coryphaeus has changed it, changed _you_.” To know that it wasn’t their faith in Andraste that fueled the Inquisition’s hope, but faith in _her_ to lead them into a better place gave Athenna a tense emotion inside her gut. “Scout to the North, be their guide.”

“Where?” Athenna asked.

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it, a place where the Inquisition can build…grow…” his green eyes bored into hers. “Skyhold.”

Awareness sparked with the word, “ _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ ; the place where the sky is kept.” Solas seemed taken back at her quick response.

“You know it?” he quirked, tilting his head to the side.

“I thought it was all just a bedtime story,” Athenna shrugged. Her mother would tell the most outrageous ones for hours on end. She enjoyed the sound of her mamae’s storytelling more than the stories themselves at times. It was the one thing that grounded her back to the forest and into the Fade.

“It is very real for I have seen it in my travels,” Solas concurred.

“Why don’t you show them the way?” Athenna raised an brow, “why must it be me?”

“Because you are the one they look to,” the mage leaned closer, “Their faith lies in your decision, your movement, your direction. They will follow you wherever you lead them.” She nodded. She heard what he was saying but not comprehending it. The Inquisition wasn’t coming to its end, no, it was just the beginning. The longer Athenna stayed, the higher she rose to lengths she never prayed of succeeding with her clan.

At some point, she believed she would become a keeper. That is until the desire had been duly crushed by Andruil’s will to hunt rather than Mythal’s gift of magic. Leadership was not meant for her even when it was nearly promised considering she grew in the shadow of her clan’s former first; her own father. _“I do miss you, Da’len, but never forget, I am always with you._ ” The words echoed in her mind and tenderness prickled her lids.

“Solas,” Athenna cried at the elf retreating. He turned back to her, forehead creasing.

“Lethallan?” She didn’t see him step towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Did she want to know? Was it better to believe her father was the one that led her back to the safety of the Inquisition? The curiosity battered down everything else when she said her next words.

“When I woke up under Haven, there was a spirit,” Athenna paused to take a deep breath, “it… guided me through the storm. Without it, I may have not lived. The closer I got to both death and the camp, the spirit started sounding more familiar. A voice I knew too well,” the hurt closed her throat and she stopped again. Solas kept his fingers on her shoulder which anchored her from collapsing into tears. “My father…he—…died when I was young. Is it possible that he—or a spirt that embodied him maybe—helped me find my way?” She finally looked up at him. The sympathy was unspoken but creators, she didn’t want it; just answers.

He waited, answering slowly, “the veil was thin in Haven. It is quite possible a spirit of guidance found you and decided to help,” the disappointment was hard to hide, “it may have taken on the persona of your father to establish trust but…” he trailed off.

“But…?”

“It _could_ have been him, spirits of the dead wonder the fade every day. I watch them all the time. It is possible his soul was still in the fade after all these years, waiting,” he gave her a faint smile. Athenna blinked away tears that dared to leave. A traitor escaped, and his finger gathered it.

“If you truly believe it was your father, then it was. You are the one who knows him best of both of us. Even if it was not his spirit, it was his will. He wanted to help you from somewhere in the Beyond.” Solas’ words were cautious, as to not give her any false hope while also speaking comforting truths. If her Papa was watching over her from somewhere, it was enough to convince her he was at peace.

Athenna barely reached above a whisper, “Ma Serannas, Lethallin.”

“You are welcome, Da’len."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah comforting Solas! No worries though, this is not that type of story! I flirted with Solas once and it was just wrong on my end. Not in my dragon age world! Finally, next chapter we get to Skyhold! Sorry I lied last chapter, this one was longer than I intended! Thanks for reading!


	11. So Now She Shall Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:
> 
> Dorian: Agnes Obel  
> All of Me: Sarah Blasko  
> Fuel to Fire: Agnes Obel  
> Queen of Crows- Two Steps From Hell  
> Skyfall- Adele

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Dorian’s quiet voice lifted Athenna’s eyes from the personal pile of books she’d been trying to sort. He was not readable. Their conversation was so pleasant, arranging books categorically then alphabetically into Skyhold’s library. Dorian had just been talking about his childhood in Tevinter when he paused suddenly.

“Must you feel the need to ask?” She was taken back by his apprehension. He never seeked permission before requesting something of her.

He was quiet, “it’s something Inquisitor Lavellan must take care of, not Athenna.”

Athenna chuckled nervously. _Inquisitor Lavellan_. How odd it was to hear it from a person and not just her own thoughts. But it was true. She was the Inquisitor now. The journey from their Haven outskirt camp had been long, more lives did not survive along the way. A few days after their departure, Solas led Athenna up one last snowy slope to reveal a magnificent fortress; Skyhold, the place where the sky was held back. A place she’d drawn many a time, a common folk tale of ancient elven lore come to life.

Something about Skyhold made her steps lighter as she walked through the gates for the very first time. This was not just because it was elven, but perhaps because the walls held a strong sense of welcome, belonging. It was a feeling she had not fully reveled in since being amongst her clan, Sure, Haven was more of a home to her last she was there but maybe she was too brash to call it Vhenas. This place, full of wonder, history, and magic, shouted—screamed into the Beyond, Vhenas.

As if she could comprehend nothing more in just one day, Cassandra ushered her over to the advisors. They all shot knowing glances at each other before parting ways, leaving just Cassandra to lead her up the stone stairs. Leliana offered her a sword and the warrior, who was once her warden, lay the title of Inquisitor in her hands. Athenna turned then, to see her followers, staring up at her but not in fear or anxiety this time but glory, awe, and uncorrupted devotion.

When Athenna raised her concerns about the Inquisition being led by an elf, the woman denied that this was the wrong choice; the Inquisition would follow because she was the one who had _been_ leading them. They would not have made it this far without her, that by Andraste’s will, she was meant to be the Inquisitor. While Athenna silently disagreed, she could not deny the righteous sensation as she slipped her fingers tightly around the pommel of the ceremonial great sword. The person she saw in the reflection of the blade was not one she recognized. This woman holding the blade had seen awful, unforgettable things and her journey was only just beginning. The stranger, this elf who stared back also bared the Vallaslin of her worship, Sylaise, could only hope she was worthy of the devotion of too many good people in the Inquisition.

As if sensing her hesitation, Cassandra proved the people’s loyalty with Cullen’s rallying confirmation that they will follow no one else. The crowd that once rivaled her stood united, cheering for her to lead them, Athenna Lavellan, proud huntress of Clan Lavellan. With the sun shining down brightly on her raised blade, Elgar’nan’s own approval of her role, she accepted her new title with unbound honor.

Athenna stayed a smirk, “Are we not the same person?” Dorian glared now, not in the mood for jesting. Still, “Should I ask Athenna to leave the room?”

“If she’s taking that annoying snark with her then yes, please do, and don’t let the door hit her—what are you doing with that one?” The Tevinter stuttered the sentence into a question. His gaze cast to the book she was settling into one of the neat stacks; _A Slave’s Life._ Athenna was placing it in the section titled “Elven History.”

“Shartan’s novel? About his time as an _elven_ slave? That goes in ‘Elven History.’” Dorian scoffed and swiped the book from it. “Hey!” Athenna whined.

“Shartan was born and raised in captivity in _Tevinter_ ,” Dorian emphasized his homeland, “therefore, it goes in ‘Tevinter History,’” slapping the book down into the smallest section of texts, on top of the _Malefica Imperio_.

Athenna frowned, “you just want to inflate our Tevinter reserves, or lack thereof.”

The human gaped at her. “My lady Inquisitor, how dare you accuse me of overcompensating! The thought that I could stuff our shelves with anything, but the bravura chronicles of my people is simply obtuse! The nerve!” he threw his hands in the air before crossing them over his chest. While he childishly turned away, his half smile suggested he was not entirely passionate—at least at present—about Skyhold’s stock of the Imperium’s records.

Athenna rolled her eyes when she reached for the book once more. The elf was met with a sharp slap to the wrist, “Fenedhis!” she cursed. Dorian turned towards her again and collected the books to place them in their “proper” spot on the shelf.

Once he was satisfied with the sad set of Tevinter volumes, he set his hands on his hips. “Now, where were we?”

“You wanted to ask me but not me a favor?” Athenna got up and wafted away the dust.

“Ah, yes! That’s right,” he turned dark again, “it’s about Alexius.” The name struck a chord and Athenna fought hard to swallow a shudder. She had not thought of the man since their encounter in the dark future. He remained in Haven’s dungeons afterwards, awaiting a ruling by the Inquisition.

“I hear he also survived the journey,” Athenna muttered.

“He did. That means his Judgement is inevitable. Which will be carried out by the Inquisitor, naturally.” She forgot that she would judge prisoners now. The thought of Alexius’ fate being put in her Judgement both excited and terrified her. How could she judge a man who sent her into a terrible future with the intent to carry on _with_ that future? It made her sick.

Still, there was sadness in Dorian, the way his shoulders shrunk. “This is troubling you,” worry knitted Athenna’s brows together, “speak your mind, Dorian.”

The mage took a deep breath and paced to the edge of the library, clinging tightly to the banister. Athenna mustered up her best ‘Inquisitor’ posture and leaned next to her friend; a man she respected more than most. The library was mostly empty besides Fiona and a few tranquil stocking the shelves. No one would hear their conversation. “I know it’s a waste to justify mercy for him, after what he’s done…” he trailed off. Athenna tried to hold his gaze but he was fixed on the research table across the room, “the man I looked up to, he’s still in there and—“he halted. Athenna gave him an encouraging pat. Dorian was not good at expressing feelings of the heart. While it was easy to brush off any attempts at heartwarming conversation, she could see how difficult it was for him to have his mentor behind bars and under her will. “He would be much more use to us alive than dead.”

“’Use’?” Athenna raised an eyebrow.

“Just…please consider all your options,” he did plead with her, if not just ever softly.

Athenna granted him a reassuring smile, “I will,” she may not trust Alexius, but she did trust Dorian. If his punishment could prove productive for the Inquisition, who was she to deny help? It was something she would ponder, at the very least. “I’ll do anything to prevent the dark future,” her conersation was clouded by others down below.

“Give me a timeframe on the reparations of the bridge,” Cullen could be heard from the rotunda, entering from the great hall. Athenna leaned into see him with a few soldiers trailing behind, building tools in hand.

“Sir! Two days for the supplies to arrive and three for the repairs,” one of them replied. Cullen stopped and turned to stare down the man. The lieutenant steps faltered.

Without blinking, “a day and a half—two days at most—for the repairs. I want Skyhold operational by the end of the week,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir! Right away!” the man saluted and backtracked to the great hall. The others gathered around him as he began assignments.

“Perhaps the dark future wasn’t _all_ that bad,” Dorian muttered with dancing eyebrows. Athenna’s cheeks flared at the memory of Cullen in the dark future. Despite all the pain he was in, he looked at her as if she were the sole light in an unending darkness. It struck her with both warmth and fear. Fear for his infected body, riddled with red lyrium shards, bending to the power of Alexius. Warmth for his protection even in death, his goodbye peck to the forehead leaving an entire side of them unsaid…

“We spoke of this, Dorian,” she warned him a reminder, “it never happened. It never _will_ happen.” She laced her tongue with a tone what she thought would make him reconsider his words. Apparently, it was only enough anger to scare away a small pack of nugs because the mage grinned suggestively.

“Did we now? I don’t recall,” he chimed. “you can only deny so much.” Athenna stayed her glower and Dorian his grin. The two looked at each other until Dorian relaxed, speaking first, “you know there was a rumor Shartan and Andraste were lovers during the rebellion,” the blush refused to leave her cheeks, in fact it grew warmer, “A human goddess and elven slave! Can you imagine? _The scandal_ —wait, where are you going?” Athenna had started walking away.

She did not stop when she called, “We’re done here.” His reply was short-lived as she was already walking down the stairs. Several of the soldiers loped off in different directions, a messenger stayed by Cullen’s side. Athenna huffed a few breaths to calm the flames the best she could.

“…been assigned temporary quarters,” Athenna caught the end of the messenger’s dispatch.

“Very good, I’ll need an update on the armory as well,” The younger man loitered, as if waiting for anything else. Cullen looked at him expectantly, and he remained. “Now!” he barked. The messenger stammered an apology and hurried back to the Great Hall.

Athenna approached cautiously. They had not talked much since her gifting him the pelt or the scene in her tent _._ _“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word, Athenna.”_ Every time she tried to make sense of his words, it sent her into her own personal spiral of denial and embarrassment. And blushing, lots of blushing. Cullen paid her no mind until Dorian shouted from the second floor.

“You, above everyone else understand the concept that just because society dictates something does not mean its correct, _Inquisitor_ ,” he laid down her title thickly, the Inquisition was built against the chantry’s wishes. They were denounced and still prevailed. Unbelievable how irritating that mage could be when he was right.

Aware of her Commander’s observing, she pushed out her chest, authoritative, “a rumor is a rumor, Dorian, nothing more.”

“You know as well as I, a rumor can be both fact and fiction depending on who asks,” he began to back away. Cullen waited silently with a guarded expression for the conversation to end. “Say, Commander,” _Oh Falon’ Din, strike me down now_ , “Do you believe that speculation? About Andraste and Shartan?”

He was clearly thrown off by the question, raising his tone, the irritancy not light, “Excuse me?”

“Andraste and Shartan? That they were lovers?” That lightning was taking a long time. Athenna was still there, breathing in that moment when she would rather not be.

 “I—ah…I’m not sure I ever thought of them that way,” his nose crinkled the slightest, it was faint but Athenna caught it; disgust. The usual shemlen reaction to the Elf/Human relationships. Athenna maintained indifference but beat down the hurt inside. Dorian, however, was enjoying every second of it.

“I see; perhaps that opinion may change someday,” the man started his return to the books. She was going to have a chat with him later on his subtlety and blatant disregard for people’s privacy.

She fought back the blush returning with a vengeance, “I still expect _A Slave’s Life_ to be put back in ‘Elven History’, where it belongs!”

“You’re going to be waiting awhile, darling!”

A pause. “Did I mention I like to play with knives?”

His head poked out, “And I like to play with fire, I win!”

Athenna shook her head and turned towards Cullen. He was rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her scrutiny. Athenna cleared her throat and he jumped slightly with a breathless “ _Inquisitor_.” She went from Herald to Inquisitor in no time. Though his less conservative use of her first name was a start.

Eagar to change the subject, she gestured towards the opposing hallway that led to the outside. Their footsteps were the only music in the once harrowed hall. His were longer and deeper than her dainty, quiet steps. Athenna always noted what kind of floors she walked on in order to reduce unnecessary noises; better for sneaking in and out of visibility. Her rogueness was something she delved into and took very seriously; some in her clan believed her espionage tactics were overzealous, but it never stopped her.

“I see repairs for Skyhold are going as planned?” Athenna was the first to speak. Cullen held the door open for her to see the bridge connecting the library and the battlements had a large gap. She spotted one of carpenters on the other side as well as down below.

“More or less,” he replied, “I don’t expect them to take much longer, but we can never be too careful.” Athenna leaned up against the edge and threw herself cross-legged onto one of the last jagged perches. Cullen froze in her peripheral when Athenna tilted herself over to survey the drop below. He relaxed when she returned her posture.

“This place is well fortified to begin with,” the battlements incased the hold completely. As if the stonewalls were not enough, the empty abyss that it stood on might as well have been another barrier. The Inquisition would see anyone coming in from miles away.

“We set up as best we could in Haven,” he rubbed his neck again, “we could have never prepared for an archdemon, or whatever that thing was. With some warning we might of…” he stared off; brows crinkling. The beast’s large eyes and form still made her feel claustrophobic when it trapped her in Coryphaeus’ grasp. She only ever observed dragons from afar, to have one breathing the same air as she made her uneasy. How in all of Thedas a creature as terrifying as that could excite Bull was beyond her.

“We were all shaken by what happened,” her words brought her out of the revere.

“If Coryphaeus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw,” the truth settled into an uncomfortable pit in her stomach. While Skyhold was a defensible keep, it could also be used as a trap; it could thwart whatever enemies came in but if they can surpass the defenses, where could they run? “But I wouldn’t want to, not this time. Guard rotations are established, and we’ll be on course within the week,” Athenna watched him relax slightly. It was what calmed him she realized: always having a plan, structure in the day to day, rules to authenticate peace.

He wouldn’t survive one second in the wilds. The elf quirked a smile at the thought but quickly disappeared. Survival was one of the Inquisition’s weakest skills and the notion made her ask something she didn’t necessarily want to know the answer, but it was her duty all the same. “How many were lost?”

Cullen noted her grave expression, “most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse,” Athenna knew those she saved were walking below them in the courtyard now. Still… she bit her lip, refusing to put her people in that position again. “Morale was low but improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.” At least she was doing something right, even if she was not doing much at all besides helping get Skyhold functional again.

“Everyone has so much faith in my leadership, I hope I’m ready,” whether or not she a choice in the matter, Athenna _was_ the Inquisitor. Some things she would just need to learn as she went.

“You won’t have to carry the Inquisition alone,” he halted, “although it must feel like it.” _Creators, you have no idea_ , she thought. “We needed a leader, you have proven yourself.” His words were simple but still lifted her doubts. The memory of her advisor’s constant arguments made her relieved that the leadership issue was finally solved. While deep down, she suspected her role would change, it was but a dim hope at the time.

Then it dawned on her, his unswerving commitment to her and the Inquisition played a part in her rise to Inquisitor after the business with Alexius. He never argued her decisions after that, never stepped on her toes to reach a consensus. He stayed, gave his two cents, but not overstepping boundaries that were created between them which originally caused the rift in their friendship to begin with. As she studied the distance between them, she realized how much smaller it was. It was why he strode in front of her without a second thought when Cole appeared, his support in her staying behind, and his dedication to finding her out in the middle of that blizzard. Cullen worked twice as hard to earn her respect and she’d barely noticed. Until now, that is. She couldn’t have done any of this without him. 

“Thank you, Cullen,” she spoke earnestly. He said nothing but gave her a smile; it made her heart twist. It was nearly boyish, innocent and unfiltered. The kind he blessed her with every so often in the rare moments they were alone. It made her feeling smaller but a whole lot warmer. “Our escape from Haven…it was close,” then the words tumbled out, ones that were strictly meant for her mind. “I’m relieved that you—” she quickly corrected herself, but fire burned inside her cheeks, “—that so many made it out.” _Stupid, stupid_ ¸ the thoughts chided.

The man turned serious again and after a pregnant pause, “As am I,” Cullen imparted softly. He turned towards something that was suddenly important on the battlements. Satisfied she said the wrong thing, Athenna hopped off the ledge, hoping to make a quick but unnoticeable escape. Gloved fingers wrapped around her wrist and a gasp left her lips. He opened his mouth but froze in hesitation before clamping it shut. She allowed him to pull her, turning her purple irises to his gold. His mouth was thinned, contemplating. She was close enough to see how much he towered over her, the top of her scalp barely reached his shoulders. Athenna shuttered a breath, she had not been so near to him since his rescue after Haven’s destruction.

“Cullen?” she nudged quietly.

“There’s something you—” he began

“Inquisitor,” Leliana’s accent cut in their moment, “When you have a moment, I’d like to brief you for the Judgement.” And like that, the electricity between them vanished, reality thrown back in their faces. Cullen let go of her and stepped back. Her heart beat wildly, frustration nearly making her snap at her Spymaster. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Cullen spoke over Athenna’s protest. She turned to him and he regarded her with caution.

“Did you need to tell me something, Commander?” Athenna edged anyway, raising her eyebrows. The former tenderness disappeared, a fortified expression set in its place. She frowned at him. 

“It can wait,” he declared in his blasé-war-table tone. Athenna huffed impatiently. _You win this time_ , she thought.

“Very well,” she sighed. Before she left, she shot him a rigid look. This wasn’t over. He remained stoic as she walked away.

* * *

“You did that on purpose,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Leliana turned back from her trail behind the Inquisitor. It was the perfect moment; Cullen grappled onto the rare quiet instant with Athenna, to let the truth slip out; _I stopped taking lyrium_. She was the Inquisitor now, it wasn’t right he kept such secrets from her any longer.

Now that the previous warmth no longer existed, his bravery shriveled into a corner of his mind. He saw Athenna’s face; she knew he was hiding something and he was about to tell her. That elf seldom forgot anything, in fact she paid too much attention to every detail in one person. It wouldn’t be long before she found him and demanded the truth. The thought scared him too much to confront her now. Damn Leliana and damn all the interruptions.

The redhead smirked, the usual mask she wore whenever she held her advantage over her pawns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She was gone through the door, silencing any rebuttal he had.

Cullen’s walk to the courtyard was slower than he intended and not because he was stopped a solid four times by messengers and the carpenters. He spoke without hearing what he was saying, on somewhat of default responses whenever his mind was somewhere else. He searched the small pockets of crowds for the one person who could walk him through his current predicament.

Maryden’s serenade floated from the courtyard below; her song solemn and beautiful.

_Roses on parade, they follow you around_

_Upon your shore as sure as I can say_

_Be gone be faraway_

_Like fuel to fire_

Dark eyes caught his from across the courtyard. She’d been training, swinging her sword and impaling one of the straw dummies. He wasn’t sure what he looked like, but it was enough for her to leave the blade as it was and strode across the space. With only a few feet between them, a silent question hung in the air. Without any other movement, he flickered his irises to a neighboring building. A single nod and they walk side by side through the doors of the armory.

_Into the town we go, into your hideaway_

_Where the towers grow, gone to be faraway…_

She grabbed her sword on the way in and led him to the upper floors of the building. The only hint Cullen trailed behind was the heavy thud of his boots. The smiths paid them no mind, forging weapons and armor with a mixed symphony of clangs and shavings. Once on the highest landing, Cullen leaned against one of the open windows, the weight of disappointment made him frown.

“Did you tell her?” Cassandra was the first to break the silence after a few minutes. She asked but already knew the answers.

“Interrupted,” he muttered, “by the Left Hand, of course.”

“I would suspect as much,” the warrior replied, “she does not want a repeat of the Redcliffe argument,” Despite her sounding like she is defending Leliana, she empathized with Cullen’s frustration wholeheartedly. Leliana refused to have any more waves in his relationship with Athenna. The safety of the Inquisition came first over everything else. But what she didn’t understand was that this was _for_ the Inquisition. How was Athenna supposed to trust him when he kept a huge part of himself hidden from her? More importantly, if anything were to happen…if he could not complete his duty… he slammed his fist against the stone wall. The negative thoughts were erased with the pain. Though his migraine was still a heavy reminder of what wasn’t said. “It doesn’t need to be now, Commander.”

“If not now, when?” he snapped, “When would be better? In the middle of one of my nightly meltdowns? Or perhaps when I try to kill her because my hallucinations tell me she’s another abomination?” The idea of attacking Athenna, the woman Thedas didn’t deserve, the woman _he_ didn’t deserve made him want to puke.

“That won’t—”

“It’s been getting worse, Cassandra,” the woman held no reaction besides blinking once. Cullen tsked and ripped his gloves off. He sat down and watched his fingers shake and proceeded to plunge the bottoms of his palms into his temples. Cassandra sat across from him, quietly observing. The Right Hand rarely showed sympathy. It was why Cullen went to her when all of this started. He didn’t want pity, just support, someone to keep an eye on him if things went badly. Time and time again, he had gone to her during his rough patches, and she always managed to pull him out of it. But this time felt stronger, it was all he thought of, despite how busy he’d been. Lyrium withdraw is a terrible parasite, sucking the life out of him because the blue poison no longer protected him.

“I thought it was becoming less frequent?” she wondered after a long time.

“I assumed so as well. We were both wrong. In fact, it’s become more regular,” his nightmares were changing, something far darker crept in his dreams. He used to see Maddy every night and she disappeared from them for a time. Nothing relieved him more than finally getting away from those images. However, as Maddy faded, a new person sat outside his barrier, someone so much worse. Someone whose eyes matched the raging storm around them.

“It will pass, Cullen,” Cassandra whispered.

“You promised me,” he reminded her hoarsely.

“And I intend to keep that promise but, you are stronger than this,” Her cool fingers claimed one of his wrists, “and you’ll feel better when you tell her.” _When I tell her_ , he thought. Even if he doesn’t tell her, she’ll know. Its just his choice whether he should warn her of his inner demons or let her see them.

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Athenna scoffed while clicking two simple iron daggers to her belt, not in their usual spot on her back. The grand gold dress armor weighed heavily on her body, something she would _never_ hunt in. It was completely impractical. The Inquisition symbol was embroidered into a broad diamond chest piece and the gold satin material flowed to the ground. Her right arm was wrapped in a lighter rope made of a veil-like cloth. Her left was accentuated in full gold, putting emphasis on the Anchor.

Her hair was hanging down from her ponytail, braids interweaving with her usual straight locks that Leliana was more than thrilled to play with. Luckily, little makeup played a part. Josephine and Vivienne believed that organic cosmetics amongst extravagance supplied a sense of humbleness somehow. Athenna exhaled sharply behind their backs, _damned shemlen._ Yes, this was the briefing Leliana was so concerned about when she whisked Athenna from Cullen. Josephine smoothed out her dress, clipboard in hand. She’d been ignoring Athenna’s complaints about her dress for the Judgement.

“When you walk, make sure you’re slow, graceful. We’re executing how powerful you have become. There are visitors and if you want allies, we must prove our worth.”

“Walk slow, Athenna,” she grumbled under her breath, “be graceful, Athenna. Just act like the shiny humans, Athenna,” she caught Josephine’s glare. Athenna just beamed but it was not lighthearted. Two escorts opened the large heavy doors to the hall.

“Lose the grin,” Josie ordered quietly.

She shrunk it to a small smirk, the one she used when speaking with any of her friends around the keep. “Bite me,” she hissed through her teeth. She didn’t bother glancing over at the Ambassador; her tired groan was enough of an answer. Athenna walked ahead of her, at her own pace, not the leisurely elegance Josie was asking for.

Athenna nodded to Varric as she passed him, and he waved, bemused. A small crowd gathered to watch her first Judgement. Leliana and Cullen waited at the bottom of the small steps, begrudgingly ignoring each other. Athenna caught his stare and quick appraisal of her outfit before turning to look out the stain glass windows behind her throne. Her heart sank at his attempt to ignore her as well. Dorian was on the opposing end of the Commander and Spymaster. He looked up, still the same unreadable expression he wore a few hours before. She gave him a face before ascending the stairs.

Just as she reached the top, the tip of her high heel got caught on the step and she knelt, but it was clear she tripped.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” she spoke conversationally amongst the chuckles and murmurs of her audience.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine asked from her side, but the elf halted her with a wave. She unfastened the clips of her shoes which Leliana picked out for just that occasion. Athenna scanned the audience and gestured to one of her personal maids.

“Devra, can you come here a minute?” the Inquisitor inquired louder. The older elf, appearing to be around her mother’s age, shot up from where she was sitting.

“Y-yes, your grace!” she hurried to Athenna’s side.

Before she spoke to Devra, she addressed her audience, “Just a moment. Minor wardrobe troubles,” she wore the same smirk she walked in with and turned to the maid. “Devra, be a dear and give these back to Sister Nightingale,” she passed the shoes over, “and if you could, please grab a pair of footwraps from my quarters, yes?”

The servant tightly grasped the heels, “yes ma’am, of course!”

Athenna didn’t bother to look at Leliana but Cullen’s amused huff was enough to know she got the reaction she was hoping for. Instead she spoke while she clipped the metal off her left arm, “I believe we are all well acquainted enough to know this is not my usual appearance,” they remained silent, “you all have seen me walk amongst you every day, and you still believe in the Inquisition, correct?” she gestured to those watching. Small nods and mumbles supplied the reply to her question. “I am your Inquisitor, but I am also one of you, intending to fight against the evil that threatens our world. I believe that justifies my honesty in my Judgement outfit,” Josephine was holding back a glare to her left. “My advisors mean well but they forget that, not too long ago, I lived in a forest for most of my life.” Devra returned with Athenna’s footwraps. She thanked the servant again and passed her the blades on her waist, “bring these to the kitchens, maybe the chefs could cut butter with it or something.” The crowd birthed some chuckles and she grinned to her people.

Athenna proceeded to put on her footwraps, lacing the fabric around the bottom of her feet and ankles, “Skyhold is special to me, and becomes more so every day. It is my Vhenas, my home. As I hope it is yours. I don’t want to hide who I am around you. I’m sure you do not wish a leader who hides behind fancy masks and outfits either.” She gazed up to see them, and approval shined through, awestricken smiles which Athenna returned to them. She took off the chest piece and now she sat in a simple gold frock. She fully observed her advisors for the first time; Josephine was disappointed, Leliana was annoyed, and Cullen was gifting her his own little smile, scar tugging against the pull of his mouth. The only approval of the trio.

Athenna let her features smooth out and turned to one of the two guards flanking the throne, “Begin the Judgement,” she ordered flatly and sat.

“Quiet in the Great Hall! The Inquisitor will now sit in Judgement!” He boomed off the walls and the chatters ceased. With a resigned sigh, Josephine straightened up and Athenna followed her gaze to the far end of the room where the clanking of chains was heard. Her knuckles curled against the chair. Inquisition soldiers nearly dragged Alexius before her.

Josephine’s velvet accent was the only thing keeping Athenna seated, “You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgement of your aid,” As the villain drew closer, he appeared much less alert than last they left. His eyes were empty, and his shoulders sagged; complete defeat. Although, she felt little sympathy. “The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on your own life, no less.”

“And the lives of the Inquisition, my friends, and all of Thedas, lest we have forgotten,” Athenna’s voice seethed out in an angry accusation.

The Ambassador dipped her head, “Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit.”

The first feeling she had; rage, relentless and unforgiving loathing. _Public execution_ _by beheading_. The sweet taste of vengeance on the tip of her tongue. But she sensed Dorian tense from her left and the hate simmered. His expression told her everything; the desperation of a student who loved his teacher. “ _The man I looked up to, he’s still in there,”_ Athenna found the magister once more; devoid of his influence and helpless in any defense he could possibly have; at the mercy of her Judgement. He avoided all the gawking of the room, especially hers.

She couldn’t muster any words besides, “ _Why_?”

“I couldn’t save my son,” his voice was but a low jeer, “when you have a child, Inquisitor, you will understand. You will drown the world in blood for them, just to know they’re safe. I failed,” he spit, “do you think my fate matters to me?”

His ignorance willed her to stand. Josephine shot a warning glance but Athenna ignored her as she walked down the steps to his level. The man didn’t react to her proximity. She spoke slow and quiet, “you think I don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone I love?” Alexius didn’t respond, only turning from her. A sure grasp snaked out and clutched his chin, forcing his reluctant stare to her furious eyes. “You think I wouldn’t turn time to putty just so they could live? Even give my own life in the process? I _would_ ,” she worked to keep her voice even with the thoughts of her father’s ghost beckoning. Athenna tightened her grip. “but I will _not_ sacrifice innocent people—people who trust me to lead them, to keep them safe—for the sake of saving one.”

Athenna sucked in a deep breath from her nose at his lack of reaction to her words. The memories dripped fuel into her anger and let her tone be coated in its own venom, “I watched your Red Templar minions inflect unspeakable horrors to my inner circle, Spymaster, and Commander while I stood by. In the end, they all still died. Felix included,” he came to life a little. “I have more cause than _anyone_ to kill you.” _So, you shall die, by my hand_ , she wanted to declare. _“He would be much more use to us alive than dead.”_ Dorian’s eyes were resting on her shoulders and Athenna practically threw the magister’s chin. Just as she suspected, Dorian’s face twisted, no one else would notice it, but after spending so much time together, she picked up the subtle flash of panic at her fury.

The hall was as quiet as the dead. Her footsteps back up the stairs ricocheted loudly off the walls. “But, it never happened,” she turned back to Alexius, “and this isn’t about me.” Dorian softened faintly.

She sat back down on her throne, gnawing on her lip. _Damn you_ , she thought to her friend. If he knew how right he’d been, Dorian would be unbearable. She stayed silent for several moments. The hundreds of followers stared at her expectantly. And to think a few months prior, it would have petrified her. She stood amongst the Inquisition’s scrutiny with no excess burdens. She’d met with terrors she never dreamt of enduring and yet she still fought. The unrelenting force of her determination was her one saving grace. The lives of her friends and her people were what made her stride with one foot in front of the other.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine edged gently. The Ambassador let herself thaw as well, genuine worry underneath her proper mask.

“Render your Judgement!” Alexius finally barked, chains jingling with his sudden movement. Some of the spectators flinched back, Athenna remained firm.

Pushing the resentment for her own decision behind her, Athenna tipped up her chin, “your magic was theoretically impossible, Alexius…” she paused, a weird taste formed in the back of her throat, “I could use people like you.” A delicate but stout finger lifted towards him, “your sentence is to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition.”

“No execution?” the wood underneath Athenna’s nails cried out from the sudden clenching. Alexius sighed, “very well.”

His guards eyed her, a request. Athenna jutted her irises towards the library, an order. They saluted and took the man by both his elbows. She waited until Alexius was out of sight before relaxing back into the chair. She could only pray to Elgar’nan that was as hard as the Judgements would get but she knew it only made her a fool to think that way.

“Inquisitor, there is one more Judgement, but it can wait if you—”

“Nonsense bring them in Josephine,” Athenna waved off her companion’s concern. She seemed she was about to argue but thought against it. Josephine turned and whispered to one of the prison guards; he nodded and loped off, rather slow like. The Inquisitor glared at the Ambassador who promptly disregarded her.

Athenna searched to where Dorian had been standing but he was nowhere to be found. She only hoped that punishment was enough, that he would accept it. Alexius would never be free again, that much was certain, no matter what Athenna sentenced him to.

Then she noticed Leliana also exited the Judgement. Although, that was normal enough for her, the Spymaster was constantly in and out whenever she pleased. The longest she ever stayed in one place was when the War Council was in session. But Cullen lingered, stoic as ever. His opinion of her actions cleared from his features. Athenna let out the breath she was holding and wrung her fingers through each other.

A growing commotion at the door made her snap up. The next prisoner must have been causing a ruckus. The crowd cleared a path and she could just see it, the small wisps of blue magic. There were no mage prisoners she was aware of. It wasn’t just the scene either but the atmosphere in the room, lifting, electricity sizzling its waves through the souls inside. Athenna went to grab her daggers but remembered her alternate use for them in the kitchens. “Dirthamen’s balls,” she cursed. Athenna tugged Josephine aside and Cullen stood in front of Athenna.

“Out of my way, Shemlen!” Athenna’s shaky gasp made Cullen tense and unsheathe his blade. Her feet were already taking her towards the sound. The Commander protested but he was a distant ring. “Where is she?!” Hands pushed passed the bystanders, towards the mana. _It can’t be_. Inquisition guards encircled him. The man struggled against their attempts to detain him. The blood left her face when she saw the barest hint of dark red locks.

“Stop!” the order sounded like a plead from her trembling lips.

“Your worship?” one of the guards wondered incredulously.

“Stand down,” she whispered. Without another question, the humans stepped away from the assailant. Her suspicions were confirmed when she got a clear picture. Athenna’s knees very nearly buckled at the sight of him, staff out, breathing heavily, sweat running down his Vallaslin. His Dalish robes were tattered from the long journey he surely had. His light green eyes immediately widened in recognition.

“Thenn?” he asked in a fierce whisper, the one he used whenever they knew they were speaking or doing something they weren’t supposed to. Which was often enough.

“Carvin…” the name rolled off her tongue with longing she felt guilty to forget about for a time. Seeing him in that moment, time slowed, and the Inquisition faded. The man she once called her closest friend stared back at her wide eyed, just as unbelieving as she. In the same instance, time sped up, his arms were tight around her back.

“Thank the creators,” he mumbled breathlessly against her hair. A collection of gasps, murmurs, and shushes surrounded them but Athenna stayed where she was; frozen solid in shock. There was only one thought running rampant in her otherwise still mind; two worlds she swore to keep sacred from each other were about to clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a chapter I’m semi-okay with! I’ve been waiting so long to officially introduce Carvin with that scene. I wasn’t too happy having to use some in-game dialogue but that Cullen scene when they first get to Skyhold is cute as balls. Anyways! Thank you for all the subscriptions/kudos/comments, its all appreciated!


	12. The Vicious Circle of Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. I Believe- Christina Perri  
> 2\. Broken- Patrick Watson  
> 3\. Blinding- Florence & The Machine  
> 4\. Be Here Now- Ray LaMontagne

The first time Athenna ever saw him, she was barely old enough to unclasp her fingers from her mother’s leg. He was a timid little boy, shaking like a leaf as if it stretched to leave its branch on a late fall afternoon. His wide eyes matched the forest, glancing between the different members of Clan Lavellan.

The young lad kept to himself, didn’t speak much to anybody. Athenna didn’t understand why, and he always seemed somber. It was not uncommon for elves to be transferred to another clan at such a young age and it could only mean one thing; he was gifted.

It wasn’t until her father found her staring at the boy once again, pondering his strangeness. _“He’s not a halla, Da’len. You can speak with him. He is one of us,”_ he reminded her

Athenna frowned. The boy sat underneath the shade of a tree just on the edge of their camp. He’d been that way for quite awhile, carving a piece of a branch with a small blade. He ignored all attempts at conversation from the adults. The rest of the clan’s children, like her, strayed from the boy.

 _“He’s just…so sad, Papa,”_ the young girl whispered, _“what do I say?”_ she turned up into the exact replica of her irises.

The man smiled gently, the few wrinkles he had crinkled underneath his eyes, “ _Introduce yourself to start, talk about the clan, yourself. Most of all, I think he would appreciate the company.”_ He nudged her in the small of her back. Athenna’s heart thudded when she walked over to the boy. He didn’t react to her approach, only nipped at the edges of the wood.

 _“Hi there,”_ she greeted gently. He peeked at her and then back down at the branch. _“My name is Athenna.”_ More silence. She gulped and peeked towards her father, but he was talking with the Keeper, back to her. _“What’s yours?”_ His slicing halted, brows crinkled but did not speak. Athenna gazed into the forest and brushed off the awkwardness the best she could. _“You don’t have to tell me.”_ She sat down across from him at a comfortable distance. Then she talked, whether or not he listened, she wasn’t sure. Athenna spoke about Clan Lavellan, her mother, her father, the Keeper, and her other friends. She told him of the places they’ve visited and where she hopes to visit. She mused about her love for high places, to climb the trees when no one is watching. She was talking about how her father was a mage when his eyes shot up to her.

 _“Do you have it?”_ his small voice was raw, shy. It was barely above a whisper. Athenna caught the question however but was confused by it.

_“Do I have what?”_

_“Magic?”_ a flash of fear crossed his face when he asked. Athenna felt her throat tighten, she was not sure if it was from the question or the answer.

 _“I--… well, no. not yet, at least.”_ Blush bloomed under her cheeks and disappointment painted sorrow against her features.

 _“Oh,”_ the boy stayed quiet, the branch no longer suffering the scrapes of his knife.

 _“Do you?”_ she wondered.

The boy peered away from her, sheepish, and nodded. Athenna swallowed her jealousy and rocked a little, arms tight around her little legs. Her father was one of the strongest mages compared to the nearby clans. It’s in her blood to have magic but no matter how harshly she wills the flow of that sacred nectar, nothing happens. _“What clan did you come from_?” Athenna changed the subject, erasing the sadness that captured her heart.

 _“I came from many,”_ the boy replied. The young one cocked her head to the side. He took a deep breath and gripped the branch. Athenna fixed her gaze on the mop of red hair growing out of his head. She’d never met anyone with that color before, it was nearly hypnotizing. _“All the other clans I’d met with, they already had three mages, this was the last one I was sent to. If there was another mage in this clan…”_ he trailed off. Athenna gulped again. She knew the fate of clan mages who were not First, Second, or Keeper. They were sent to a Circle or taken to the forest with a Hunter, never to be seen or heard from again.

 _“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have Mythal’s gift then,”_ she tried her best smile. He snuck a glance at her, still sad.

 _“I was the only mage in my birth clan besides my Keeper…”_ he continued, slowly, _“Then one day…”_ the boy’s gaze was glassy, _“they were killed,”_ his voice broke. Athenna let out a faint gasp. She could only imagine her own family; Mamae, Papa, the Keeper, Nessina…dead. Athenna shivered.

 _“W—who killed them?”_ Athenna didn’t understand why she asked, why she wanted to know.

He stared at her, a single tear trailed his cheek, _“shemlen hunters.”_ He pronounced the slang with such hate, she recoiled. _“And you know what I did?”_ The way he asked the question scared her. The girl felt panic itch in the back of her mind, the need to run back to her father made her want to stand. But the other part of her wanted to stay, help the boy she tried to learn about from afar. _“I did what I’m doing right now. I hid.”_ He scraped a hand across his face, sniffling, _“like a coward,”_ his croaked again. His shoulders shook while he wept.

And just like that, the apprehension melted. Instead, a different emotion replaced it and gave her the will to crawl close enough to place a delicate grasp on his arm. He didn’t react to her touch. Instead she whispered, _“I don’t think you’re a coward,”_ the boy glanced at her, tears streaming. Athenna felt her own tears well up as she flicked the water away from his cheeks, _“I think you’re very brave.”_ He stared up at her, shocked. She used the cloth of her skirt to continue to wipe his tears away. That boy, he was too beautiful to cry. While Athenna didn’t understand the depth of his mental wounds, she wouldn’t let him go through it alone. She even smiled for him as he stared at her, dumbfounded.

 _“Carvin,”_ he mumbled.

 _“Hmm?”_ she hummed.

_“My name is Carvin.”_

* * *

The little boy, now a grown man, bearing his own vallaslin of Dirthamen, held her face in his hands. He scanned over, frowning at the spot on her forehead; a scar that was not there last he saw her. Wrinkles rung underneath her purple eyes, her cheeks less plump than ever before, even when she was a child. This was not the woman who left the clan, this was a shadow of what she once was. The mage ground his teeth together.

Recognition crossed her features and she grabbed one of his hands, “Carvin—I’m fine—“

“Don’t you _dare_ say you’re fine!” he cried loudly. She flinched in his cage of fingers. The familiar crease in her brows appeared but she stood straighter and stepped away from him. Before he could protest, she squeezed the hand she kept.

“Cullen,” Athenna locked her stare with one of the shemlen behind her, he stood much taller than both the elves, dawning full armor and a fur pelt across his shoulders. The man named Cullen stepped forward, his gloves rested on the edge of his longsword. Carvin caught the symbol he memorized repeatedly; the ingrained sword of mercy. Then Carvin felt it, if only the slightest pull of the essence that ran through the human’s blood, lyrium. Templar. The mage tensed. He forcefully pulled Athenna back, ready to make a hasty escape.

The woman caught his wrist, “Ma’ane eth” _You are safe_.

Her cool tone made him soften slightly. The blonde human glanced between them but landed his golden irises on her, patient, waiting. Carvin assumed the man would view her with malice or disgust. Although, with what Carvin was seeing, he couldn’t be sure _what_ all these humans saw her as She dropped her tone to a whisper, “clear the hall.” Now the human seemed taken back, more what Carvin was expecting. “please,” He appeared as if he were about to protest but after that soft word, his jaw set as he swiftly turned to the rest of the population.

Out of his mouth came a loud roar, “The Inquisitor has decided to suspend her Judgement. Back to your posts!” half of the crowd dispensed, he continued to the stragglers, “and if you don’t have a current assignment, go find one! Maker knows Skyhold won’t refurbish itself!” Now the hall truly began to empty. For the most part, those who passed Athenna were silent, others stopped to give her a swift greeting, or what seemed to be a salute; touching their fist to their chest. The name “Inquisitor” left the lips of many. Inquisitor? Athenna responded with a faint but professional quirk of the mouth. The wheels in his head were turning, horror painted his expression. Every so often she flickered a glance to him but quickly turned her attention to the receding humans.

Soon it was only him, Athenna, the human Cullen, and two other female shemlen. Now that they were alone, she appeared sheepish towards him.

“I can explain,” she started. Carvin sputtered, so many questions come to mind and he didn’t know which to ask first. “I’m ah--…” now she blushed, “I’m the Inquisitor.” He blinked. That much he gathered. But what _was_ “The Inquisitor”? The note the clan received had been so vague, he could only come to the conclusion she was being kept prisoner or slave. Someone was required to come to Skyhold and hear what they were to say about her. Little did he realize, Athenna would be the one to be discussing herself.

“The…Inquisitor,” it was supposed to sound like a question, but he was still trying to process the word.

“This is the Inquisition; born and bred underneath the Chantry. We,” she gestured to the humans behind her, “reformed it against the Chantry’s wishes and I…well, I’m it’s leader.” An elf? A _Dalish_ Elf was leading all these chantry humping shemlen?  He remained quiet, trying to wrap his head around the impossibility of that sentence alone. Athenna waited and fidgeted uncomfortably. Her companions were giving them a polite amount of space but not leaving the room. “Please say something,” she burst out.

He formulated what he could, “To do what?”

“Remember the giant hole ripped open in the sky?” Carvin nodded slowly. He recalled that day perfectly, it was a few weeks after Athenna left the clan for the Conclave. It looked like the world itself was falling at the seams. The sensation of pure helplessness made him grip his staff with white knuckles. Where could they run when Thedas was being torn from the sky?! As the clan moved farther east, the rift disappeared at some point but it only made him worry for her even more. “We’re going to stop the one responsible for it.”

A humorless laugh spouted from his mouth. All this time, he sat around believing she was dead or taken prisoner, not out saving the bloody world. While he felt relief, there was something else, the searing slice of hurt in his chest. He felt betrayed. “Why?” he whispered.

Her perfect brows furrowed, “Why what?”

“Why didn’t you send a letter, why did…” he shook his head. _Why did I have to find out this way?_

“Carve…” Athenna reached out and he flinched away from her. Her expression fell from his rejection. This woman, she wore her face, spoke with her voice, but how could it be the same person that left the clan? “I tried to, I just—”

“Just what, Thenn?!” he shouted at her. Now she flinched from him, “You think I wouldn’t help?! That I wouldn’t follow you? That the _clan_ —”

“I did it to _protect_ the clan,” she stepped in his space and he tried to retreat but she caught his face in her hands, “I can’t lose them. I can’t…” Her stare turned glassy, “I can’t lose you, Carvin.” So that was what it came down to? Her protection over him? She ripped herself away from the clan, away from him, so she could protect them? How could she do this? They’re supposed to be in this together. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. With sharp fingers, he snatched away from her grasp. Carvin blocked out the strained whimper from his actions. The room spun, the weight of this new information made him dizzy.

“I need to get away from here,” his steps stuttered backwards. He used his staff to catch his balance.

“Don’t leave,” she was climbing from pleading to hysteria. He looked back at her and she was visibly shaken. How he longed to cross the space he created to hold her in his arms and whisper how he would never leave her. To stroke her hair and feel her sweet lips on his again, tell her the things he thought he would never get the chance to. But did she even feel the same way anymore? The things that nailed her to this place, Skyhold, a place that, only a few months earlier, he believed to be a fairytale, maybe stronger than her role in the clan. It made him want to keel over and vomit. Carvin shook his head, vision blurred. “I don’t even know how you got here.”

The words stopped coming. He rifled through his pocket and shoved the paper at her. Carvin pivoted and exited quickly, despite Athenna’s cries for him.

* * *

_Keeper Deshan,_

_I bid you good day and hope the recent events in Thedas have not tampered the spirit of Clan Lavellan. I write to you on behalf of the Inquisition, in reply to your inquiry of a member of your clan, Athenna Lavellan. She is safe and sound. Her duties to the Inquisition have kept her from writing a proper response to your letter. I have taken the liberty of updating you on her situation myself._

_If you wish to know more, please come to Skyhold. The messenger who carries this letter will lead you or anyone you wish to go in your stead to our headquarters. We anticipate gladly to meeting with the clan properly._

_Best wishes,_

_Sister Nightingale  
Spymaster for the Inquisition_

The parchment quivered in her clutches. She read over the letter and tried to convince herself it was not real. But why would the clan fabricate such a lie? They wouldn’t. This was the work of Leliana, no doubt about it. Her breaths came out in short staccatos. The treachery summoned anger as she fisted the missive.

“Inquisitor?” Josie’s voice came from her left, a gentle pat on her shoulder. She baulked from the contact and rounded to Leliana who now stood amongst the trio. She stayed aloof, no hint of regret or remorse upon her clear fascade; instead she wore an expression of resolution and determination. Athenna glared at Josephine.

“Did you know about this?” she waved the parchment. The Ambassador didn’t even need to read it to know what she was talking about. With a sigh and slow nod, the duplicity stabbed deeper. Athenna puffed and turned to Cullen. _Elgar’nan, please_ ¸ she prayed. He was the one who didn’t meet her gaze and that sent a final blow of the triple betrayal. An unexpected tear fell down her cheek.

“Just what am I to you people?!” her own shout surprised her, but she stood, shaking. No one spoke. Leliana’s stare pierced right through her while Cullen and Josephine sunk their shoulders. “Clay? To mold to your desire? Am I just a visage for the people while you all make decisions behind my back? Have I done something to falter your trust in me?!” More silence. The lack of answers confirmed the assumptions.

What had she done to make them confide in her less? Is it because Solas led her to Skyhold? Was it because she sided with the mages? Is it because she, herself, does not believe in the Maker? But above all, Athenna gave herself to the Inquisition, while unwilling at first, by the time Haven fell, she had the choice to leave but where could she run? How long would Thedas be safe until Coryphaeus tore another rift in the sky? When she was the only one who could possibly defeat him?  But maybe that was it; she’s the only means to save Thedas. If she could be persuaded to stay with that logic alone, of course they would have her become their leader.

She stayed to help the Inquisition and was led to believe she earned the rank of Inquisitor.

 But now, looking between her “advisors” did she come to the understanding that the title “Inquisitor” was nothing more than a name and an elf, who was a prisoner to the cursed Anchor on her palm, to serve as nothing more than a pariah. A dull chuckle, like Carvin’s, bubbled past her lips. Another tear dripped.

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. Athenna traced a finger along the seams of the crumpled note, it had been opened and closed several times; read time and time again by who she could assume were the Keeper, Carvin, Ness…Mamae.

Then it dawned on her, if she just told the Keeper “no” for the mission, he would have sent one of the other hunters. She would have never received the Anchor, never become Inquisitor. She would never be feeling the hurt she experienced now. She would never have been led on to consider herself more than what she was; a Dalish huntress who was just happy to protect her clan. Her dreams were somber and unrealistic but they lighted the way for her to live a happy life. With Clan Lavellan. Not all these shemlen who were more than happy to lie through their teeth, grant her false hope, and become someone else.

Leliana broke the silence with her usual cool tone, “We do trust you, Inquisitor.”

Something ignited inside, “My name is Athenna!” she screamed, “I was Athenna before I was the Inquisitor before I was the Herald. I will be Athenna well after! You will use my name!” she commanded strongly.

“Athenna,” the Spymaster corrected, “you were not chosen to be Inquisitor by us, but by those who follow.” _Lies_ , Athenna thought, despite the overwhelming evidence that yes, the people did follow her, but they’d little choice. “I refused no reply to be a reply to your clan when they asked about you. I gave you the time to respond. You didn’t,” her heart stung at the truth. Her reluctance to write to the clan in the first place was already a sore spot. “The safety of the Inquisition and you are our priority. I will not have a war with Clan Lavellan when it can be prevented.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Athenna demanded.

“Because you would have stalled again, like you’ve been doing. They needed to be informed. So I forumlated the missive, had it proofread by both Cullen and Josie, then sent it with an elven messenger who shall remain anonymous.” Athenna flickered her eyes to Josephine and Cullen. Josephine’s guilt was plain as day, the grand old Game gone from her face, she was allowing Athenna to see how sorry she truly was. Cullen stared at her as well, just as rueful as Josie, grip tight on his sword. Her heart broke at the sight of his remorse but that only showed how far he’d sunk his claws into her.

“I was your prisoner once,” she reminded them, “I may have understood then why you would send it. Now I’m your Inquisitor, capable of my own decisions. Decisions that affect the Inquisition as a whole. Did you not consider the idea that I have been drafting hundreds of letters to my Clan? How could I possibly explain all of this in a page of parchment? How could I tell them--” she scraped at a tear that tried to escape, took a deep breath and tried again, “How could I tell them their lost huntress wasn’t coming home? Perhaps ever?”

Leliana stared at her, her gaze became more set than before, “I did what I needed to. And don’t think for a second I regret it. It’s done now. Best we move forward.”

Leliana’s passive attitude made more angry tears leaving Athenna’s eyes. Instead Athenna shot her a wrathful smile and took the letter with two hands. “And therefore, the shemlen will always be hated by the Elvhen. You walk all over us like what we say and think do not matter. You will always believe that your determination is what makes the sun rise in the east and set in the west.” The distinct sound of paper ripping apart cut through the walls of the Great Hall. “If that’s how you see me, a servant, a pawn…” she regard each of the humans with intensity, “then Fen'Harel ma ghilana; the Dread Wolf guides you.” With nothing left to say, she turned swiftly and left the Hall.

* * *

Athenna stayed in her quarters for the remainder of the day. She skipped the war council and did not respond to any of the messengers Cullen and Josephine sent. Cullen knew it was a bad idea from the moment Leliana brought it up. Despite his initial rejection to the plan, the lingering chance of war with Clan Lavellan dominated the majority of her argument. How could he defend that? He refused to send his own troops to kill Athenna’s friends and family.

Cullen now stood in Athenna’s spot, her dagger still stuck in Haven, static, where she left it last time surrounded by the pieces that changed dynamically. He thoughtfully pulled the small sword and twisted it in his fingers. The board was covered with pieces of Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen but their Inquisitor was gone. Where would they go from there without her? He gripped the piece in his fist. How could he let Leliana talk him into this? And Josephine? Was she not Athenna’s friend?

“It was the right thing to do, Commander,” Leliana muttered from across the table.

“I’m inclined to disagree,” he talked through his teeth. Josephine was quiet as she wrote on her clipboard. The woman moved a piece to Val Royeaux. The Ambassador said nothing since Athenna’s outburst.

“Her feelings are hurt, as we all suspected they would,” Leliana reminded.

His lip curled angrily, “Hurt? You think her feelings are hurt? Were you not listening when she basically called us traitors? She’s not hurt. She’s devastated because she was betrayed. By us, the people who are supposed to be watching her back, not stabbing it!” he yelled.

“We had no choice.”

“Because you left us with nothing else!”

“It was for the Inquisition.”

“It wasn’t. In fact, while we have not made them our enemies, we have lost any potential of an alliance with the Dalish. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not. But it was necessary.”

“Rationalize it all you want. Athenna no longer has faith in us,” Leliana raised an brow at the use of the Inquisitor’s name, “and I don’t blame her.” Another piece was moved followed by Josephine’s rapid footsteps out the door. His headache pounded while the Spymaster maintained her indifference. The longer he stayed, the worse it got. He knew he couldn’t hold it off anymore. The next time he saw Athenna, he would apologize and admit his withdraw from lyrium. Cullen prayed it would be enough to salvage some trust that he so easily broke down.

A knock on the war room door disrupted Cullen from his revere. It was not a sound he was used to. The only people ever to enter the war room were the advisors and the Inquisitor, occasionally Cassandra. Messengers always had strict orders not to disturb the war council under any and all circumstances. Leliana ignored the visitor while Cullen saw to the door.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” the sound came from down below. Varric stood a solid few feet lower than Cullen. He wasn’t sure what he appeared as, but the dwarf nodded a greeting and sauntered past him. “I’m here on behalf of her Inquisitorialness.” The man searched the war table before looking back at Cullen’s fist. Varric held out his hand and Cullen realized he was waiting for Athenna’s dagger.

Hesitantly, he settled the blade into his waiting palm. With a light twirl of the piece, Cullen flinched. An amused smirk sat on Varric’s lips, “I was specifically told to spin it,” and dug it into the Ferelden side of the map. Just above the piece read _Crestwood_. Crestwood? Cullen raised an brow at him.

“Spider Monkey, Chuckles, Hero, and myself will leave for Crestwood in a few days as a favor to me.” Though Varric regarded both Leliana and Cullen, it was clear the dwarf was talking to the commander.

“Why, may I ask?”

Now the dwarf grinned, “Picking up an old friend who knows a thing or two about Coryphaeus.” Cullen stiffened, he knew that look. It was one Varric had not used in sometime. In fact, it was the one he used when only with one other person. It appeared whenever the two walked together in the Gallows of Kirkwall, exchanging jokes and stories despite being in the darkest place in the entire city. Of course, the only time they ever came to the Gallows was to cause trouble. Varric chuckled when the human groaned into his empty fist.

“Cassandra’s going to kill you,” now Leliana was speaking.

“I know,” he laughed again, “which is exactly why I’m not bringing her.”

“I’m not responsible for your pending bodily harm,” Leliana sighed. Cullen felt himself twitch at her lightheartedness. She ignored him, collected herself, and glided out the door. He grumbled and leaned against the war table, Athenna’s dagger now had a place amongst the Inquisition again. But he would be a fool to think this means she forgave them. If she did, Varric would not be in her stead. Still, she was talking to Varric about the plan in motion. While he was not one of the leaders, he was a messenger and it meant she still cared for the Inquisition. That much was a comfort, if only a small one.

The dwarf lingered and studied the table, his usual banter muted. Despite being in the same city as the man for seven or so years, they were not exactly friends. At the time, all he was concerned about was ensuring peace or rather Meredith’s idea of peace. Varric was nothing more than an accessory to Hawke’s meddling. While it was necessary to Meredith’s demise, it didn’t make the two friends. Especially after Hawke’s sister was taken to the circle.

Even if Varric bared no ill-will to the commander, they’d yet to develop any type of friendship. As Cullen deliberated on what to say, Varric also folded his arms over the table, taking care not to jostle any pieces. “Think any harder, Curly, and you’ll burst a vein.” Cullen apologized quietly, keeping his attention on the dagger.

“Is she…” he trailed off and scanned over the piece. Guilt riddled the sentence he formed absent in the air. He took a sluggish stroll to his usual spot on the adjacent end of the table. Varric’s sigh lifted his head up.

“I think…she needs to get away for a little bit,” he ran a hand over his small ponytail, “it’s been a rough week and today made it worse…poor kid,” he sympathized. Cullen felt as if his gut had been punched. He was partly responsible she was even doing this.

Cullen’s shadow now enveloped Kirkwall and the rest of the Free Marches. “I don’t even know what to do,” he muttered more to himself.

“Nothing you can do, Curly. Damage is done,” the harshness of his words did not match his tone. “It’s a setback. She’ll come around eventually.”

“You think so? I’m half convinced she’s already packing her bags.”

The dwarf laughed softly, “Have you met Athenna? She’s as stubborn as she is forgiving. Not that she doesn’t deserve multiple apologies.” He stared pointedly at the commander now.

Cullen nodded meekly, “I doubt she wants to hear it from me.”

“Maybe not tonight. I wouldn’t wait much longer after that, though. For now, let her hurt,” Varric shrugged. He was right, and it was annoying. If Cullen tried to even talk to her, she would shut him out. The human exhaled sharply, it was Redcliffe all over again. This time was different; however, he wouldn’t wait until she left to say what he needed to. He’d tell her anything she wanted to know, apologize a million and one times, swear fealty with his own blood just to know she could trust him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was shorter but the next chapter is looking a lot longer and I'm just being weird with my cut off points! This betrayal was a last second decision from the advisers. But they're all, after all, only human! Next chapter, we're finally getting some smut! Enjoy! Comments/Kudos/Subscriptions are appreciated!


	13. Flames of a Dying Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi Friends! I know I usually don't write notes in the beginning but this chapter does contain smut and depictions of self-harm, so trigger warning! Please read with caution and enjoy! 
> 
> xoxo Kristin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:
> 
> 1\. Warning Sign- Coldplay  
> 2\. Bedroom Hymns- Florence & The Machine  
> 3\. The One That Got Away- The Civil Wars  
> 4\. Almost Lover- A Fine Frenzy  
> 5\. Hurts like Hell- Fleurie  
> 6\. Explosions- Ellie Goulding  
> 7\. Can I Be Him- James Arthur  
> 8\. Something I Need- One Republic

 

Athenna didn’t return to the Great Hall for dinner when the sun laid to rest. Devra left food at the foot of her steps but she didn’t bother to touch it. Her appetite fled with Carvin. Her only chance to make amends and she messed it up. Her eyes burned from the river of tears that fell when she first entered her quarters hours ago. Athenna was not the type to allow despair to cripple her but to both betray and be betrayed in one day was more than she could bear.

She tried not to think of what happened with her advisors. Though the dread from the whole thing took up the remaining vacancy in the back of her mind. While she did not actively think about it, the weight of their treachery sat, waiting to break down the flood gates once more. Just when she was starting to think she could rely on the humans, they do this. Could she put all the blame on Leliana though? Of course not. Did the clan need to know about her? Yes. Did she have a plan to tell them? Yes. But to do it without her was completely unacceptable. Especially with how delicate the Dalish are at communicating to begin with.

As if that wasn’t enough, Josephine and Cullen went along with the scheme. Josephine claimed to be her friend but still went behind her back. And Cullen. The human her heart clings to too tightly, who fought tooth and nail to earn her respect, also went behind her back. Was this normal for the Shemlen? To simply hurt those they hold dear in order to do what they believe was required? Is the sacrifice of trust truly necessary to gain allies or prevent wars? It was the exact thing that gained enemies and started wars!

Athenna shook her head against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The more she tried to contemplate the whole thing, the more of a headache she got. It wasn’t worth her stress. Especially if she needed the Inquisition to move forward, with or without the aid of her advisors.

Despite her lack of hunger, the emotional battle she fought that day was enough to let herself fall into the darkness. Though the dark did not last long. When she awoke, Skyhold was dead silent but she was not alone. A shadow lingered over her form and she tensed. An intruder? Her hand thrust out and twisted the wrist over the person that was reaching for her.

“ _Ow!_ Thenn! Stop!” Carvin whined. Immediately she let go as if the man were a thousand degrees.

“Sorry,” she spoke breathlessly but not fully comprehending that Carvin was there, in her room. “You came back,” she said.

“I wasn’t about to leave you here,” his irises glowed like a cat’s in the soft blanket of night that covered the room. Athenna could not see much but she could tell he appeared forlorn, guilt ridden. She would have done anything to wipe it all away, see the happy person she’d left behind. She found his cheek and stroked her thumb along his Vallaslin.

“This must have been very hard for you,” Though Athenna grew out of her distaste for humans in her time with the Inquisition, Carvin’s only grew. With everything that happened with his clan and her father, he was not ready to be in a place with so many of them. Usually the Keeper brought Athenna with him instead of Carvin whenever they would go trade with the humans on the outskirts of Kirkwall or Ostwick. Though Athenna got a dense feeling in her stomach whenever they met, she knew it was a necessary evil. Her daggers were always only a twitch of her finger away. She also always brought her longbow, more for show, but it sent the message they were prepared for a fight if one were to come. Of course, it never did (besides the occasional spat).

His hand found hers and pressed it tighter against his face. A shaky breath left his lips, she added her other hand and cradled him as he’d done to her hours before. She studied him, searched for things that weren’t there before. Besides the light shades of purple under his eyes, nothing was out of the ordinary. Thank the creators for that at least.

“I’d walk through hordes of those shemlen to make sure you were safe.” His soft voice sent her heart soaring. Then guilt made her look away. She couldn’t deny that sensation was something she had not felt since leaving the clan. She never pictured anyone making her feel the same way Carvin does, even if it was a toned-down version. While Athenna could not imagine harming Carvin, would it be enough to leave the Inquisition? So many things left tacit, it made her feel worse for going to the conclave. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Everything,” she breathed, “I don’t know what to do, Carvin.”

“There are enough humans here for an army or two. Why must they need you in order to defeat this man?” Athenna bit her lip before lifting her left hand from his face. She didn’t know how he would react to the sudden intense green glow that emitted from her palm. While he is schooled in magic and knows beyond anyone’s besides the Keeper’s wisdom, this was far out of their realm of knowledge. The Anchor luminated across his features and for just a moment, Athenna saw the scared little boy under the tree again. Just as swiftly, he was the man who fought back his own fears just to see her again, to bring her home. His mouth was in a tight line as he watched the Anchor.

“I don’t know how but I can’t remember anything past the gates of the Conclave. I woke up in an Inquisition prison with the mark. The giant tear in the sky? I closed it with this. The smaller rifts popping up around Thedas? I close them as well.” He remained indifferent, listening. Athenna took a deep breath and tried to scoot away but a firm arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. Carvin’s way of saying _You can’t scare me off that easily_. The feel of his chest against hers had her heart hammering. His breath caressed her face and she could feel herself getting drunk in it.

“They worshipped me as Andraste’s Herald, they believe their Maker gifted me with this…thing.” How odd it was to speak of the Inquisition as _they_ instead of _we_. But it was the one thing that separated her from the Inquisition. She never claimed to believe in the Maker or speak for Him. She recalled how alienated she was amongst the humans with a clear line of separation; human vs elf, Chantry vs Dalish, her vs them. And the more she proved herself, the more the line blurred. The longer she stayed, the higher she climbed and achieve more than she ever dreamed. “I can’t come home, Carvin,” Athenna whispered brokenly, “Ir Abelas” she paused and felt his grip loosen. She pushed herself into him, panic, “tel dara em,” _Don’t leave me_ , she pled.

After several aching moments, he wrapped another arm around her and pressed their bodies together. His breath was in her ear, “Ar nadas” _I must._ He sounded just as upset as she did. The fact that he did this on his own, determined to find her, and return to the clan showed how much he matured. Despite the truth that he was going to leave, she was proud of him. She only wished she could be the woman he deserved.

Though he did not release her, he just held her as she wept against his shoulder. Athenna also felt the tremors of his own quiet sobs. They did not cry just for their separation, they cried because of what will never be. Carvin is the natural path her life would have taken, had the conclave and Inquisition never happened. That day she first saw him was the day Athenna began her slow fall. It never ceased and was always present. Before she left for the conclave she vowed she would return to him; Ar ju itha’ma sal. _I will see you again_. Now that promise was to forever stay broken.

He touched their foreheads, “dhava em,” _kiss me_.

“Carvin…”

“Sathan, ma ‘lath,” _Please, my love_. How she craved it, how she missed it, the feeling of him against her. It was the one thing she knew he would use whenever he wanted something of her. The magic of young love was still so new but how could she lead him on into something that could never happen? She never made her feelings to him known because everything had been so physical. But now when he was just within her grasp and he wanted it all the same, how could she deny it?

Athenna’s lips hesitantly brushed against his. They felt the same as always, soft, molding to hers perfectly. The way Carvin regarded her, it was different than before. All mixed emotions; want, desperation, sadness, love. It grew from the initial lust of young infatuation. She mirrored all the emotions he laid bare for her.

Now they clashed together fiercely, his tongue slipped into her mouth and danced with her own. The sorrow electricity filled the room and her own skin prickled underneath her slim nightgown. His leg slid between hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The pleasure in her stomach greeted her like an old friend she had not seen in some time.

His hands grazed routinely down her back and crept underneath her gown, guiding her hips to meet his. Athenna heard herself moan against his mouth. The memories of when they first were intimate washed over her mind in a real-life dream sequence. Carvin was a few years younger, his hair was longer and eyes brighter. His face was bare just like Athenna’s and their fear of unknown physical intimacy only added excitement to their exploration of each other.

The two spent several day trips together alone, deep in the forests of the Free Marches, learning more and more things about each other; where they liked to be touched, what positions they preferred, what was the most pleasurable for them. It was a long few months before they finally joined together and experienced sex for the first time.

His mouth left hers and kissed her all over. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, Ma're ina'lan'ehn _You’re beautiful,_ Ma Vhenan, _My heart,_ Ma’re ga em, _You’re everything to me_. His teeth bit down and sucked on her ear lobe and she craned closer into his thrusting hips. His member massaged the area between her thinly clad folds. She chanted his name like a prayer as he licked and planted kisses on her neck. 

While it was agreed they would not pursue an emotional relationship outside of their physical for the sole factor that they only wanted to know about the nature of pleasing and being pleased, they couldn’t deny the electricity that passed through them whenever they touched. Athenna always felt more for Carvin, while his feelings were unknown to her, deep down she knew he felt the same. He simply wasn’t ready. What a joke that now, when they are both eager to begin a relationship, her duty keeps them from doing so.

His tongue trailed down between her breasts, he stroked one of the mounds, thumb grazing over one of the hardened peaks. Each touch and kiss had meaning, the sheer bliss from all of it nearly sent her into a frenzy. As she leaned into his touch, his lips closed over one of her nipples, grating it softly between his teeth. Athenna let out another shaky moan, louder than before. His hand travel down between her legs, fumbling through the shift and finally rubbing into her folds with delicate but firm fingers. Her hips bucked and she could come just then.

And yet, drunk in a fog of perfection and happiness, Athenna knew that these feelings were those of the reminiscent. That, indeed, she had not thought of him in months since joining the Inquisition. At first, she convinced herself that it was due to the fact that all the distractions and horrors she confronted kept her from thinking of him, but she knew, deep down inside, things changed. She began feeling something for someone else, someone she didn’t want to have feelings for. But love had a mind of its own, she learned.

The guilt cleared through the mist but just as she opened her mouth, his tongue was inside it again. “Carvin,” she breathed. He shushed her, kissing her twice before working his way down past her breasts. He knew her weakness and she couldn’t stop him. It was sinful, she should be stopping him but creators, the pleasure made her forget. His thumb rested at her entrance and she held her breath, shaking with anticipation.

With extreme patience, he licked one slow line up her folds. Athenna’s grip came down on Carvin’s head, twisting through his silky locks, ready to pull him up when he licked her again. His mouth enveloped her clit and sucked. Now she pulled him into her. “Carvin,” she now stated his name with encouragement because by all of Sylaise’s wonderful temptations, she was not worthy of feeling this good. He lapped at a leisure pace, but he stopped her impatience, gradually increasing the licking. His tongue soon found her entrance and plunged inside her while his thumb stimulated her pearl once more with small circles. Her hips rode his mouth greedily, and he basked in her wetness.

It wasn’t fair that she should stop but couldn’t. Instead, to rid herself of the shame, she pictured a different person between her legs. She imagined the hair in her fingers curly and blonde, which instinctively made her clench harder. The inner most desire to feel through those clean, flawless curls while he went down on her was more than she could bare. It took everything not to scream _his_ name when she came.

The First found Athenna, her arousal dripping down his chin. He smiled but it was not kind or tender, it was filled with lust, hunger, and thirst. Green eyes morphed into gold, a scar formed on his upper lip. A shiver ran down her spine as she allowed Cullen to rip off her nightgown. She trembled in the cold from her open windows. He also took off his shirt and gathered her into his arms, his warmth was unmatched. She shook when she slid his trousers down. His hardened manhood rubbed against her wet womanhood and a heavenly sigh captivated his attention.

Athenna couldn’t count the amount of times he crossed into her fantasies when she touched herself. She tried not to think about the fact that the scenario she created was blasphemous. In another world, where she didn’t have pointed ears, or he did, perhaps it could happen. In another life where she was not the Inquisitor nor he a general, was it possible. And even if the world was saved and she returned to the clan, it wouldn’t be the same. Carvin would always be the inferior choice. He used to be her one and only and she always believed that no one could take his place. But seeing the world through a different pair of eyes; the eyes of the Inquisitor or the Herald, not the Huntress, made her love for him fade into a distant memory. She was not sure whether that notion should make her happy or sad. Carvin was a good man, he deserved someone better than her, someone not so broken down. Maybe someone who was as she before the conclave.

The man looked back at her as Carvin again, tears forming as he slid into her. “Ar Lath Ma,” _I love you_. She gasped, and her own tear slid down her cheek. She waited so long to hear him say at and now that he did, she couldn’t find the will to say it back. Athenna pulled him into her neck so he could not see, so she could keep fantasizing about something that would never happen and make love with a man whom she did not love back. He thrust inside her and she moaned, imagining Cullen again. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist and had her sitting up and over his bended knees. As when he licked her, their pace began slowly. Her walls happily took all of him in, pleasure surpassing the pain of not being filled in so long. Once fully sheathed inside, He began to pick up speed.

They were both kneeling but intertwined with each other, humping with their routine rhythm. Yet still, it was Cullen who held her, Cullen who’s stubble nuzzled her neck as he kissed her, Cullen who dug his nails into her bare back, Cullen who enfolded her name with his baritone voice in the most beautiful song.

She was soon reaching her peak.

“Where?” He inquired roughly.

“Outside,” she whimpered.

“You go first,” he encouraged her. While she was near her climax, she was not there yet. Athenna began to protest. Cullen’s thumb found her clit and massaged it, hitting just the right spot. The sheer pleasure that electrocuted her nerves had her plunging him inside her as deep as he could go. His exquisite groan made her rock violently over his cock, his breaths were juddering strongly in her ear.

“Scream for me when you come,” Cullen commanded huskily, “scream my name so all of Thedas can hear.” She lifted her head up, crying tears of shame and joy. Her eyes were still shut, more tears fell. The world stopped, and she laid herself on the line between sacrilege and happiness. No room separated them as he shorted his thrusts to delay his own orgasm. This sent her over the edge.

“ _Oh_ ,” Athenna shrieked, her voice was hoarse.

“Oh yes,” she continued, the exhilaration of her climax washed through her and onto his member. “ _Cullen._ ”

* * *

The next few minutes were a blur. The scene began with Athenna’s own alarm at how Cullen’s name left her mouth when Carvin was the one to bring her to her climax, the look of unadulterated shock and betrayal upon Carvin’s face, the sounds of Athenna’s own begging him not to leave, Carvin’s accusation of her being a traitor to her own kind. Athenna knew she was despicable and a monster for using Carvin and leading him onto believe that the love they shared was still possible and real. His words cut through her and she let them dig into her soul, torture her, and bring out the terrible person she truly was.

Still she was weak, and wished to make everything better for Carvin. For she _did_ love him, just not the way he wanted her to. While he dressed, she hastily followed after him.

The rest of the world caught up with her when she realized where he was going. She chased after him down the stairs of her quarters. He ignored her pleas as they made their way to the now deserted courtyard, just beyond the gates of Skyhold.

“Carvin, the clan, if you just tell them—”

“The clan will not receive messages from you, _Harellan_ ,” he seethed. Another blow to her chest, again slammed with the term traitor. “You are no longer welcome within Clan Lavellan.” And with that statement, Athenna froze.

“I’m…exiled?” she could barely choke the words out in the midst of the disbelief. Anger raged on inside him. It was rare for a clan member to be exiled, it only happened if someone was killed by another clan member, or anything of that nature. That, she knew, wasn’t fair. She would never see her mother or the Keeper again.

“Were you truly going to come back?” he shouted.

“I was—”

“And leave your _shemlen_ lover?” The pain rung high in the accusation. She still longed to comfort him, to help him heal but she knew she was beyond helping him.

“It’s not like that,” she gulped, “he doesn’t know.”

He smiled angrily and huffed, “you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” Athenna finally screamed at him.

“Why should I believe anything you say?! Your excuses are useless and false,” his hand glowed, “and you are not worthy of Sylaise’s protection,” and held his palm to her Vallaslin. Tears oozed down her cheeks.

“Carvin, please,” she begged softly. The magic began to burn through her Vallaslin; reverse blood writing. It was so rare, it was nearly a forbidden spell. Athenna had never seen the ritual before just as she’d never seen anyone exiled before. There was a first for everything. The fact that Carvin was the one performing it stung even more.

Athenna cried out from the burning but still reveled in it. He was right. She did not deserve her Vallaslin, she had betrayed her people. She left them without any knowledge. She led Carvin on. She fell for someone who wasn’t hers. Her fingers were tight on his wrist, but he brought it closer to her.

“Halt!” a voice exclaimed. A glove landed on Carvin’s shoulder and glowed blue. Athenna watched in horror as Carvin’s body jolted and the magic ceased. The hand forced the First to his knees. He growled and thrusted his staff out, but nothing came of it. Another pair of hands joined in restraining him. Athenna stumbled away, back on her feet. She observed the former love of her life being detained by two Inquisition guards. The one who first approached wore the same gauntlets as Cullen; the ingrained sword of mercy. Templar.

“You threatened the Inquisitor,” he growled at Carvin, “That’s an automatic beheading in itself. What say you?” Athenna’s heart stuttered watching Carvin struggle.

He viewed her with malice, “You are bedding this one too?”

The human shook his head slowly. He brought his brown irises back to her and softened. Something about the man was familiar, “Inquisitor, are you hurt?” he questioned.

 _Yes._ “I’m fine,” the Inquisitor façade melted her features into professional indifference.

The human shuffled, adjusting his grip on his prisoner, “Orders, my lady?” Though she feared for the safety of those inhabiting Skyhold and a very specific human, she understood there was more danger keeping him locked up than just letting him go free.

“Release him,” without hesitation the human and counterpart let go of Carvin. The elf looked down at his hands and his brows furrowed in concentration. Nothing happened. He turned to glare viciously at the man.

“What have you done to me?”

“I Silenced you. Your magic will come back when you’re far enough away from here,” the man sounded like he originated from the Free Marches; Kirkwall or Starkhaven. Carvin lifted his lips in a sneer and it was not an expression Athenna imagined he would direct at her.

Her voice was but a faint intonation; devoid of all emotion for she could not muster anymore feigning beyond that, “leave, Carvin, and never return.” She took in his features, burning it into her memory for it was quite possibly the last time she would ever see him. The final piece of her former life.

Slowly, the two guards tensed when he moved his torso down with his arms out, a bow. “As you wish…Inquisitor,” he laced her title with sickening revulsion. Athenna felt her stomach twist deep knots as he turned from them and walked out the gates of Skyhold. She stayed where she was and waited until his form completely vanished on the horizon. The one guard left but the Templar stayed with her, observing the same scene.

Athenna stayed her apathy and talked without turning to him, “what’s your name, soldier?”

“Knight Captain Rylen, ma’am.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Knight Captain,” She did remember the man now, he was Cullen’s lieutenant. Many times in Haven, she found the two walking together through the training recruits in Haven. In a few precious moments she caught Cullen smiling at the man and laughing; they were not just Commander and lieutenant, they were friends. It was nice that Cullen had someone like Rylen to confide in especially when he had so little.

“Ma’am, if there’s anything I can do—” the man began but was swiftly interrupted by Athenna.

“That won’t be necessary,” She managed to crack a smile that meant nothing, “back to your post.” The order was repulsively pleasant. Rylen hesitated, leaning on his sword. What was with Inquisition soldiers and leaning on their swords? Athenna raised a brow at the gesture. Cullen had more influence than he realized.

Rylen could see right through her blasé pretense. While she did not know much about the man, she could deduce he was the type of person who saw the truth underneath their expression. It was probably why him and Cullen were friends; the man put up with no bullshit. But now was not the time. Athenna must suffer and she had to alone. While she appreciated Rylen’s concern, he was her soldier and he would do as he was told.

“Off with you,” she nudged with her chin. The man stood for a moment longer; deep inside there was a crack to her ice-cold demeanor.

He dipped his head, “your worship,” and walked back towards the barracks. Part of her was relieved he did not go to Cullen’s office. Creators knows he doesn’t and shouldn’t know what took place in that courtyard.

As she slowly made her way to her impending night full of tears and horrid dreams, movement by the door to her quarters caught her attention.

“You hurt,” a boy’s voice came from the shadows. Cole. The spirit she let stay with the Inquisition after his help in Haven. He was not wearing his hat but his bright blue eyes were covered by the moppy locks of his light hair. Athenna paused, another tap at her façade.

“Good Evening,” She cleared her throat and reached for the door knob.

A pale hand covered hers and she gasped. His face nearly made her jump out of her skin. It reflected exactly what she was feeling; remorse, guilt, depression. “You’re wrong,” he claimed, “your mind is filled with lies to justify the pain but you’re wrong,” he moved closer, voice edging, on the brink of panic. He was afraid, not of her but for her. Distraught, she refused to listen to him for he only tried to manipulate her into what her hopes told her were true.

“Good evening,” she repeated brokenly as she thrust the door open and shoved it closed behind the boy.

* * *

Cullen finished another approval for requisitions out in the Hinterlands. He sighed at the stack still demanding review at the edge of his desk. It didn’t matter how much got done, that pile always stayed at the exact same height. But he was grateful for the distractions, it kept him from thinking about what happened earlier. Still, it lingered on his consciousness, especially Athenna’s expression. Maker, he swore he’d never do that again and yet, he did. Continuously wounding her just for the sake of the Inquisition, so she could be saved. But at the same time, that sentiment made none of it right.

The man growled and shoved himself from the paperwork, so much for distractions. The constant tugging he had the entire day kept him from fully focusing on the more important things that should keep the Inquisition running. But no matter how hard he tried, she always made her way back into his mind with her achingly beautiful eyes. The need to give her the space she requests and grovel to his knees in a litany of apologies had his migraines worse than usual.

Just as he was getting up, there was a shuffling in the dark corner of the room. In the same moment, Cullen had his sword drawn and pointed to the shadow.

“You worry,” the Fade spirit, Cole, whimpered, “for her. For what she’ll never see.” Cullen raised a brow, not dropping his sword. The boy was known for his sporadic ramblings of other people’s thoughts around Skyhold. Yet Athenna decided to keep him as part of her inner circle. “She keeps it from you too, though.”

“Out!” he ordered sharply. The boy examined him but did not move. Cullen edged, a warning. The last thing he wanted was the boy running off screaming from his quarters, but he could not quite separate himself from the fact it was reading his mind. Cole so easily grasped onto Athenna and pulled her out from the inner tendrils of Cullen’s deepest thoughts.

“Athenna, she is broken,” he held his torso, “She wants to be alone, but she shouldn’t be. She believes she is not good enough and it damges her so much.” While Cullen would not think much of it, the things Cole is saying would make sense considering what had happened.

He took the boy’s frail shoulders, “What are you talking about? Speak plainly!”

“His anger, she took all of it, she earned the sharp lashes of his words; harellan, he called her, traitor to one’s own kin. She agrees.” Cullen froze then, the elven mage, did he return? What else had he said? Cole leaned away.

“She doesn’t want you to know. Especially you. She hates herself for it, she can no longer bear the writing on her face.” The more the boy spoke, the more Cullen felt himself letting go of the restraints he forced upon himself. “She wants help but she will not call for it, pride and fear hold her back, she sits in her tower, thumbing her dagger while staring into the flames.”

The boy’s voice faded as Cullen raced from his office, not even bothering to grab a cloak. The crisp air of Skyhold bit through his thin cotton shirt. He couldn’t even formulate the words he would say but if Cole was saying what Cullen thought he was saying, Athenna could not be by herself. He knew what it was like to be alone and in pain. It was a combination that did not bode well with his imagination. As he entered the Great Hall, he caught sight of Rylen sitting at one of the abandoned tables. The man’s voice only slowed his steps.

“Commander are you going to visit the Herald?” Cullen turned his glare on the lieutenant, clearly not in the mood for his jokes. But he was indifferent. He knew something Cullen didn’t. “She’s shaken,” Cullen stood solidly, a grip on the door, “The elf mage you warned us about? He returned. I’m not sure what happened between them, but he threatened her with some kind of fire magic,” the Commander stiffened with the news. He knew Carvin would come back too. The Dalish were prideful and stubborn, it was only a matter of time. He threatened her though? Someone he claimed to care about? “I Silenced him and sent men out to make sure he cleared Skyhold’s parameters. Herald told me not to but I’m not risking another incident.”

He muttered a swift and quiet thanks to the Lieutenant. The man mumbled something in reply, but Cullen didn’t hear it. With Rylen’s explanation, Cullen’s suspicions were confirmed, that mage had returned, and an unexpected anger raced through him, making him nearly run towards the door to Athenna’s quarters. How dare he say those things to her. Call her a traitor? That woman nary have a traitorous bone in her body.

His feet tackled the flights of stairs into her tower with furious urgency, worry building with each step. If she was doing what he believed she was, it would not be pretty. He had to stop her. Cullen approached the final door, the one that led to the Inquisitor’s dwelling. He knocked without hesitation, the anger fueling his bravery. No answer. He knocked again.

“Inquisitor?” He called loudly. Still nothing. The Commander sighed and pulled on the knob. It came open effortlessly. Cullen raised a brow. Athenna rarely left herself open for an intruder or unwelcome guest. That only raised his concerns despite his easy granted entrance to her room. He gazed up the stairs and it was dark besides a dim flickering, a fireplace. Now he tread carefully up the final set of steps.

Cullen had not seen the Inquisitor’s quarters yet; they were luxury compared to the barracks. Even though Athenna objected to it, it was a nice secluded area for her and she deserved it. A large ornate bed sat on the side with a desk towards the opposing corner. Bookshelves rained down by the desk. Cullen found the fireplace set up between two of the three French doors that were all open to the Frostbacks. A couch was settled against the end of the bed. Athenna’s back was to him while she stared at the blaze. She was covered in a long robe but he could clearly see her form through the outlines of the thin fabric. He scolded himself internally for gawking. 

True to Cole’s word, a dagger was settled in both of her hands, her thumb grazing the blade. She did not turn to greet Cullen or even acknowledge him. Cullen felt cold despite the flames, he had nearly forgotten that she probably still didn’t want to speak with him considering what happened with the letter to the clan. He swallowed thickly, frozen in place. Still, he would not leave her, not with the poisonous ideas running rampant.

“Inquisitor,” he addressed Athenna softly. She did not move.

“Commander,” she replied, but no spite involved like the other times she was cross with him. It was a formal greeting, as if they were in the war council. Cullen wasn’t sure how to feel about that regardless. Just as he was about to speak, she turned towards him but refused eye contact. “Do you know what this is?” her finger trailed the tattoo over her eye. Cullen hesitated before answering, the name failed to find him. He knew it started with a V. Embarrassed he mumbled that it was her tattoo. She smiled but it was sad. “Vallaslin,” her elven accent dropped deeper with the language. “A coming of age for my pe—” she caught herself, “the Dalish, an honor,” she paced to the other side of the fireplace, stopping.

Cullen took the silent invitation and carefully walked to where she once stood, space still spread out between them. She appeared a lot smaller against the flames of the fireplace, she still played with the dagger. His inner panic begged him to snatch it from her, but he knew her trust in him was fragile, if any at all. “I don’t know if you heard but…” she turned to him, trailing her gaze to his chest, still refusing him, “Carvin exiled me from Clan Lavellan.” Cullen furrowed his brows. Did the Dalish abandon their own? It seemed unheard of to him considering how close they all seem. But even the Dalish must have fanatics. Still. The anger from before reignited and he stepped towards her. She retreated, keeping the gap.

“You are still Dalish, you—” she interrupted him, but it was gentle.

“Do you know how long my blood writing took?” he snapped his mouth shut, fearing he could trigger her. She glanced down at the blade wistfully. “8 hours,” she whispered. He swept his gaze over the elegant, intricate swirls of the drawing on her eye, the sparks flickered the purple ink to life. The shade matched her irises flawlessly. “They had to take care not to blind me when they moved over the lid.” She ran a delicate finger over the dancing lines. Cullen had a tightening in his stomach, the same tightness he felt when there was an enemy near. “I couldn’t make a sound. If I did, I was not ready for adulthood.” The blade drew closer and he held his breath. The dagger rested on her forehead but applied no pressure.

“You’re lost,” he uttered lowly. Now she peeked at him. “You’re lost, and you think the pain will take away that feeling. And for a time, it will.” One small step, she did not react. “But the scars will stay, and you will regret it.” Her eyes were foggy with unescaped tears. “But know this,” another step, “you’re not alone.” He was close enough to see how tightly she clenched the dagger, skin morphed into the blade but not cut.

“I know what you’re going through, a betrayal of everything you knew, by the people you were bred into. And when I reached my peak, no one was there to stop me from doing what you’re about to do.” She took in a shaky breath when he took another half step, officially in her space. He could reach out and touch her. “But I’m here, whenever you’re in need.” They stood together, fire glinting against their faces. He watched her knuckles loosen and Cullen lifted his hand to lightly cover hers. She froze.

“Why?” Athenna only mouthed.

That was an easy question which he smiled gently to, “I’m the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. It is my duty to protect the Inquisition,” one last step, the heat of her breaths collided with his chest through his night shirt. “It is my duty to protect you.” With quick and quiet precision, he took the dagger from her slackened grip, flicking it into his pocket. His other hand simultaneously found her now empty palm, thumb resting on the Anchor. It was the most delicate disarming he ever performed. He did not break the eye contact with her, his heart hammered watching for any retaliation. She did not, only blinked a few times, the fog seemed to lift from her expression. She allowed him to pull her hand away from her brow, just barely grazing with his collarbone. “Just because I left the Order does not mean my Maker frowns on me,” Athenna watched him carefully, “just because you are no longer with your clan does not mean your creators disapprove you.” She didn’t look up at him and neither moved away. When she did focus on his, her irises were enveloped in her pupils. She was transfixed on him and he could tell she was beginning to go into shock. “Athenna,” he said her name finally. _Come back to me_. It took a few minutes, but she studied the room again and him. He kept his features as comforting as he could, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

“I…” she started, “I—I think I should to sit down,” Cullen nodded and led her to the couch. He sat down next to her while she ruffled through her hair, taking a few deep breaths. Cullen was relieved she was returning to her old mannerisms. After a couple minutes, “You must think I’m mad,” she admitted.

Cullen felt himself huff, “It might as well be a prerequisite in the Inquisition.” She huffed out a weak laugh, fingers still tight in her hair. But the lightness faded, and she turned serious, fear knitted her brows together. He watched her try to put herself back together.

“Can you talk to me about something, anything?” she whispered, a hint of begging under her tone. “I don’t want to go back to…” she shook her head. Cullen stiffened and wracked his brain for something while she slowly rocked herself back and forth. Then it struck him, and there was no backing out of it. She had to hear him talk and he had to tell her this. He sucked in a deep breath now.

“There actually is something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about,” he articulated the words slowly but the truth not coming quick enough. Athenna gave him her full attention, shifting to meet him. She nodded an encouragement, “Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die,” as impatient as he was to get to where he wanted to be, it was necessary that Athenna understood the depth of the Templar’s and what fuels their powers. He spoke quicker now, nervousness making his words trip over themselves, “We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here but…I no longer take it.”

Athenna’s hands now rested in her lap, no longer strained in the threads of her hair. He waited for her reaction, but she remained astute, “you stopped?” she asked.

“When I joined the Inquisition, it’s been months now,” and yet each day still hit him harder than the first. Whenever he believed it would get easier, the withdraw kicked just as hard. It shamed him that his resolve was beginning to waver but Athenna must know. Now she seemed worried, her teeth bit her lip.

“Cullen if this can kill you—”

“It hasn’t yet,” he stopped her thought before it could maim him further, “after what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” he trailed, “I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever suffering, I accept it.” He watched her as he spoke, she only listened and nodded occasionally. “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to…” he tried to find the right word, “watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised,” her expression widened, “I will be relieved from duty.”

Now Athenna stared down at the Anchor. He could only guess at what she was thinking. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Her face contorted into something he had not seen before.

“Are you in pain?” she wondered cautiously.

“I can endure it,” he answered truthfully. Despite his episode from earlier that day, it was an honest reply. He had been able to endure it and he would continue for the Inquisition—for her. “Should anything happen…I will defer to Cassandra’s judgement.”

“Thank you for telling me,” a soft smile sat upon her lips, “pain can be dealt with two ways; we rise above it or let it crush us,” her palm tightened into a fist. She related to him and it made him feel warmer, “I respect your decision.”

He nodded, how easy it was to settle into his role as Commander. Though he couldn’t admit it to the Inquisitor, it becomes harder to maintain his business-like stature when he’s near her. Especially when she is in such a vulnerable place. Her smile dissolved, and she gazed at the fire.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she was unconvincing.

After a long pause, “I believe I also owe you an apology,” she peered at him with a brow raised, “none of this would have happened if we hadn’t sent that ridiculous letter.”

“Oh,” Athenna appeared taken back by the statement. She pulled her knees into her chest. “It would have happened,” she shrugged.

Now Cullen was taken back, “if you had sent the letter, would things not have been different?”

She hesitated, and her cheeks began to bloom a light scarlet. “I believe Carvin and I would have experienced a falling out, sooner or later.”

Cullen was still confused, “but he said he would have helped?” He flipped back through his memories of their rigid confrontation in the great hall. The mage claimed he would have helped her if she sent a letter. Her head buried deeper into her knees, her eyes just barely skimmed the edge, redder than before. What in the Maker’s name was she so embarrassed about? “Inquisitor?”

“We were in a…uh…. physical relationship, and I—ahem—was not reciprocating those feelings…” She trailed off and seemed as if she was unsure as to how to continue.

“Oh… _oh_!” Realizing the landmine he just stepped onto, his own blush responded to hers, “I’m s-so sorry. I didn’t know—”

“I didn’t expect you to. However, it’s something I’d very much like to put behind me,” she still blushed furiously.

“R-right, of course,” he would very much like to put the entire conversation behind them as well. Though the righteous stabs of jealousy and relief took up the vacancy in his mind. He reminded himself, as he did plenty of times, that Athenna was not his, or anyone who she has not deemed to be hers. To know she was not interested in the other elf was a relief, no matter how much he fought against the feeling.

Changing the subject was the best course of action, “In any case, I am sorry for before.”

Athenna shrugged, still flustered, “It’s fine—”

“Athenna,” to that, she looked at him, “I want you to be able to trust me,” the redness hadn’t faded and he liked to imagine he was the one who made her feel that way, even if it were not the truth. “Whatever action you choose for your clan is yours, and I will stand behind you. I promise,” he bore his gaze into hers with his vow. Her breath caught, and he managed to quirk a smile.

She remained quiet, studying him. He froze underneath her staring as she was probably searching for foul play. He maintained his confidence the best he could. Now she smiled, “I believe you. Thank you, Cullen.” And with those words, he knew they were on their way to recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Ah writer’s block, thou art a heartless bitch. I’ve been waiting to write this section for such a long time. It still did not go the way I wanted it to but idk how to make it any better. Plus, you friendly people were waiting. I hope you guys enjoyed this super long chapter! 7,000+ words! Phew! I hope to the have next chapter out sooner. Thanks for reading!


	14. Gambol Amongst a Wavering Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter playlist:
> 
> Soul Mates- Antonio Pinto  
> Thedas Love Theme- Trevor Morris  
> Hold My Heart (Feat. ZZ Ward)- Lindey Stirling  
> Familiar- Agnes Obel  
> Ordinary World- Joy Williams

Athenna did not sleep dreamlessly but she longed to. The memories from the night’s past created dreadful fantasies that she had been trying to beat down whenever she was not alone. They weren’t the nightmares of Haven or the Dark Future. She wishes they were. No, it was the ridiculous hope of something entirely ludicrous.

It wasn’t the first time she dreamt of Cullen, but it was always his Dark Future counterpart and the nightmare never ended happily. This time, she dreamt the scene with Carvin, only amplified. Her daily fantasies closer to a dreadful reality. As if what happened the night before gave justification to actively think about it. It just _wasn’t right_. She had been fighting back her affections with all her might ever since that night in Haven, the first time her heart ever skipped a beat around him. She just had her heart broken, why was her desire to stomp on it now?

When she awoke, there was a sunrise just etched over the Frostbacks. The troops were out, the clanging of swords was less in her sanctuary above Skyhold, the only part of the fortress that made her miss Haven. This was around the time she was usually roused by—

“Inquisitor! Rise and Shine!” Devra called from below, “Breakfast for you!” her steps were quick up the stairs, Devra’s morning routine—as always—was to wake the Herald. It was odd, Athenna felt stiff, and her bed was usually very firm. The more she woke up, the more aware she became that she wasn’t in her bed. She was still on her couch. Athenna shifted but was jostled by a weight on her right side. Something was leaning against her, warm and heavy. Athenna peered up in horror at Cullen’s still sleeping form. His curls mussed and tickling her nose. Of course, she had been hoping the scene with Carvin, and Cullen’s later interruption of her personal wounding were a dream. But he stayed…?

Before Athenna could ponder Cullen’s presence anymore, Devra’s footsteps were closer. Fenedhis! What would she think when she saw the Commander propped onto the Inquisitor, sleeping on her?! Athenna froze but rigidly called out, “Just leave it at the bottom of the stairs, Devra! I’m not decent!” Cullen stirred from her shouting, a light groan passed his lips.

“Please, my lady, I’ve prepared your baths plenty of times, nothing I have not seen before,” she continued.

Panicking, she said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m bleeding, Devra!”

“Pardon, Inquisitor?” Cullen sucked in a deep breath and transitioned to a yawn. Without thinking, she clamped a hand down on his mouth. The human jolted from the quick movement. He lifted his head and found her, her earlier expression mirrored onto his face.

“That time of the month, I’m afraid.  I’m not decent,” Devra’s steps paused, the wisps of her dark hair just skimming the top of the banister. Luckily it blocked her view of the Inquisitor’s chambers.

“Do you need anything, my lady? To ease the pain?” Devra remained and her hospitality would usually warm Athenna but not when she was trying to keep her and Cullen’s reputations intact.

“No, thank you, that’ll be all,” she kept her voice even, but part of her brain was noting the stubble scratching against her palm and the stuttered breaths caressing her fingers. It wasn’t until the distinct sound of her door shutting did she lift her hand from Cullen’s mouth. “Sorry,” she apologized quickly.

“What time is it?” Cullen asked immediately, already peeking out at the sun glaring over the mountains. He got up and cautiously made his way to her window that observed the battlements. The man groaned and covered his eyes, his troops were already out. “ _Shit_ ,” he grunted. Athenna gaped, she’d never heard him curse like that.

“Why did you stay?” the question came out more as an accusation and she resisted shrinking under his glare.

“You asked me to,” his reply was just as defensive.

“I did?” Athenna scoured her memories from the night previous. She recalled only seemingly insignificant details; the cold knife’s blade against her hot skin, the sensation of Cullen’s hand in hers, the intense beating of her heart when she steered herself away from her severe thoughts. Then one of the last things she remembered before drifting to sleep was the couch being carefully bumped. Cullen had been getting up and she caught the back of his shirt. She mumbled something, he faltered in step before returning to the spot he’d been in, replying to her request. “Oh, I did…” she concluded, still confused as to what she said exactly.

Cullen rubbed his neck and cursed again; his cheekbones highlighted pink. Athenna responded with her own flush. She was embarrassed, nervous, but mostly guilty. She’d put Cullen in a precarious position; either he would wait out the day in her room, the Inquisition would surely ask questions, and he would have to lie through his teeth in order to maintain his dignity. Or he would walk out of her quarters in broad daylight which would also result in said questions which he would also have to lie through his teeth to get through.

Athenna bit her lip while she watched him pace around the room, cursing. She should be coming up with a plan to get him out, to save both their faces. She should be frantic, urgently putting on her day clothes and collecting her bearings. She should be jumping into action. And she was not, which scared her. Instead her breaths were even and heartbeat slow; lax.

Athenna couldn’t help feeling warm and safe with Cullen. She should be repressing this, ignoring it as always. But it was different now. He’d seen her through all the layers she used to protect herself from not just the Inquisition, but the humans within the Inquisition. He saw a little girl that only emerged when she was alone; the girl who was afraid to speak to Carvin, the girl who loved to climb, the girl who wished for magic, the girl whose dreams were never more than fantasies, the girl who watched her father be murdered in cold blood. She couldn’t put the mask back on, she couldn’t push everything back. Not with him. He’d seen her naked. That verdict in itself made her want to throw her face into one of the pillows on her bed.

But she could not pursue her feelings, not just because it pitted them against each other. She was the Inquisitor and he was the Commander of her army, it was a violation in the chain of command as well as immoral. She had just gotten dumped by her first love, if she went after him, he would only appear to be a reverberation, to distract her from her heartbreak, it wasn’t fair. Athenna took inhaled deeply and tried again to drive the emotions into the deepest, darkest and most vacant etches of her mind. She pulled the Inquisitor part of herself forward and assessed her situation.

Athenna contemplated the exit points, but all would be conspicuous, especially in broad daylight. “Elgar’nan,” she sighed. Cullen turned his golden eyes to her. Her heart lurched, and she cursed internally. She scanned the room once more; she saw her boots, coat, dagger holsters, cloak—her cloak! “That’s it!” She nearly tripped on her way to retrieve it. She turned back to Cullen with a prideful grin. “Take my cloak, you’ll get back to your office completely unseen.”

Athenna held it out to him but he raised his brow cautiously. “How does it work?” She could hear the Templar in his voice. She rolled her eyes.

“Just throw it over your shoulders, like any other cloak, it’ll conceal you in the shadows,” she pushed it towards him.

With care, he took the long fabric. He studied it and glanced down at her, “Are you sure I won’t be seen?”

“Positive,” she nodded, “take care of it though, it’s my most prized possession.” It was the one thing she brought with her from the clan. It was how she snuck into the conclave unnoticed. Cassandra returned it when they made it back to Haven, a show of confidence. His expression was not readable, but he nodded like a good soldier.

Cullen remained quiet, politely turning his back while Athenna prepared for her day, swiftly throwing her day clothes on. She mumbled to herself as she usually did, a checklist while she geared up, quickly brushing her hair and throwing it up in her ponytail. She stayed conscious of the time, not wanting to keep Cullen in her quarters any longer. She could also sense his impatience even if he didn’t say anything.

As Athenna finished, she paused in the middle of her room and studied him. His hair was twisted from sleep, in what seemed to be its natural messy curls. Underneath the hairline on his neck, she could see faint freckles dotting their way under his shirt, down his back. His arms were crossed, and she spotted his shoulder blades poking through his light shirt. The fabric clung to his skin comfortably, accentuating all his muscles. She’d never noticed how lean he was. Cullen seemed almost more human without his armor and mantel, for lack of a better word. But in a good way; softer, less intimidating. More unwanted inviolable visions began forming in her head.

Cullen must have heard her hesitation because he twisted slightly, still averting his gaze, “Inquisitor?”

“Nothing!” she blurted.

“What?”

Now Athenna was granted the full weight of his golden leer. Her well-run thoughts quaked. _I thought of you when I was having sex with another man._ She nearly slapped herself. There was an awkward pause. They both gazed at each other. Cullen raised his brows, a prompt. “I—ah, heh,” she laughed self-consciously— _You told me to scream your name to all of Thedas—_ and cleared her throat, “shall we?” Her voice shot up an octave— _and by your Maker, did I_ —she cursed at herself. The man stared at her another hard moment and the hairs on her arm stood up. _I’m shocked you didn’t hear me_.

“Lead the way,” he urged. Athenna nodded and worked down the stairs. Cullen’s loud steps made her cringe. She glanced back and he was gone. She knew better though, that cloak was fool-proof. Even so, the man was not known for his subtlety.

Athenna had not journeyed to her quarters quite often enough but for some reason the trip down the tower seemed longer that morning. Maybe because she was hyperaware of the human following at her heels. But something made her mind wander, a question that faded out as quickly as it faded in. When she saw Cullen, nothing else mattered, never mind the reason of how he knew she was endangering herself. Was he spying on her? Even with their mangled trust in each other? It doesn’t seem too unlikely. Did he witness the scene with Carvin and Rylen? Creators, she hoped not.

They reached the bottom of the tower and Athenna turned. The man lifted the hood from her cloak. “Okay, I’m going to open the door and take my time closing it, so you can sneak through. Are you able to get to your office from here?”

“I can manage,” he replied, the plan already set into motion. His tenderness from the night before disappeared. It was probably too late to ask him… she sighed but hesitated with her grip on the handle of the door to the Great Hall. It would bother her, she knew it would. And it’s not as if it would be wrong of her to ask. Yet…her mind rambled in indecision. She was interrupted with Cullen’s voice was in her ear, “Inquisitor?” She jumped. That man was catching her more off guard than ever before.

“How…” she trailed but was quickly distracted by his closeness. His breath wafted over her forehead and she could just catch his scent, even diluted by her own. _Soap…and wheatgrass? No, no…_ “Last night, How did you know…” the question tumbled off her lips, she had not thought through how to phrase it. _Perhaps mint? Can’t be…_

He was unreadable again but understood her query, “The spirit, Cole? It came into my office—more appeared there really,” a tone of his usual testiness touched his voice, “Started spouting nonsense at me. But eventually he told me about you holding your dagger and the thoughts of…well…” he struggled with his answer as much as she with the question.

Athenna sputtered, “And you just believed him?”

“It…the boy,” Cullen corrected himself, “hasn’t been wrong yet,” part of him seemed ashamed. It must have been difficult for him to listen to the spirit. Cullen tended to shy away from anything to do with the Fade, if he could help it of course. “Likewise, do you think I would take a risk on that sentence alone?”

Athenna gnawed on her lip, a sudden wave of guilt washed over her. He came for her, because he knew she was thinking about hurting herself. She made him come even if it were not her intention. She made him stay and now they were in the predicament of sneaking out. It was her fault this happened, if she had just gone to bed, if she hadn’t seen her dagger, if she’d never let Carvin kiss her… “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

In the corner of her vision, she watched him lift his hand but hesitate before dropping it. They stood in silence while Skyhold resumed its morning activities. Athenna inhaled slowly and turned towards the door once more. Just as she opened it, she could have sworn she heard him mutter, _I’m not_.

With care, Athenna sleeked around the door and closed it deliberately. With the bustle of the Hall, she couldn’t even hear Cullen’s heavy footsteps. This had her sighing in relief. She sauntered leisurely around her throne. A crew had worked through the night and cleared out more of the Hall, it was homier than before; unlike during the Judgement, where cobwebs and stray pieces of wood were the finest decoration the place had seen in at least a couple hundred years.

The citizens of Skyhold were not the same as the Haven townsfolk. Everyone kept to themselves here. The Keep was a gateway to a new way of life for the Inquisition, those who walked the hall were hesitant, quiet. Athenna took a moment to bask in her inconspicuousness.

Then with one foot in front of the other, the people came to life and time sped up. Athenna smiled and greeted those who acknowledged her. She usually came up with a plan in the morning for her day but with all the obvious distractions that had happened she was not able to give it much thought. Therefore, her feet automatically took her to the library. She waved to Varric and opened the door to Solas’ rotunda, also nodding him a greeting. Leliana’s crows squawked loudly in the rookery. Other than that, the library was rather quiet.

Athenna was surprised when she arrived in Dorian’s little space to find he was absent. She frowned, crates of books still awaited their sorting. Just when she needed him the most, someone to make sense of what happened the previous night, of course he wasn’t there. As she rounded his arm chair, she saw a folded piece of parchment on the top, unmarked. Somehow, Athenna knew it was for her, who else would visit that corner of the library when Dorian clearly claimed it. She shrugged and opened the note to her friend’s elegant script.

_Spending the morning with Alexius, will return in a few hours. Don’t go too crazy sorting improperly._

_-D._

Athenna smirked as she ran her fingers over the writing. The elf contemplated going to chat with Bull or Sera then realized maybe she was not ready to talk to her friends just yet. Surely questions would come up about the judgement and Carvin. Athenna was learning news travels rather swiftly around Skyhold. Perhaps it would be easier to take it slow that morning and warm up from books to people.

With resignation, she plopped herself down rather ungracefully in the middle of all the books and created makeshift category piles. Dorian seemed to have put away the books they sorted yesterday and Athenna would never hear the end of it had she tried to put them on the shelf herself.

Athenna found her gaze wondering towards the tower outside Dorian’s window, Cullen’s tower. She struggled to see if a door was propped open or if there was movement. But the doors were closed, and windows darkened. Mythal’s mercy, she prayed he made it without being caught. She helped him the best she could. And then deeper thoughts surfaced, how would they approach each other now that Cullen had seen her so bare?

* * *

The trip back to his office was surprisingly easy. Skyhold was entirely too distracted with rebuilding to pay any attention to the small indents in the dirt that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Cullen climbed the steps next to the unnamed tavern by his office. He thanked both the Maker and his bride there were no other doors between the Great Hall and his office.

Cullen quickly scanned over the courtyard and proceeded to slip inside, wincing when his door closed a little too loudly. Despite that, the man heaved a sigh of relief and dropped the hood from his head. He’d never been happier to see his own body in a long time. Part of him was nervous he would still be invisible without the cloak. He rarely kept any of his equipment enchanted, while he knew the benefits, the farther he could be from mana, the more of his own sanity he kept. It was ludicrous, but his demons would always find a chink in his mental armor. In his rank, he could not afford to break at the sight of a little magic.

A chuckle from his desk made him stiffen against the door, “I can’t wait to hear about this one,” Rylen’s voice came across the room an amused gruff.

Cullen groaned to hide his smirk because of all the people who could be in his chair, it would be that damned Knight Captain. The man deliberated lying but Rylen knew how much of a terrible liar he was under pressure. Before Cullen could open his mouth, Rylen continued, “I must say, I’ve never seen a cloak do that before, did one of the enchanters make it for you or…” he trailed off and rubbed his chin comically.

Cullen maintained his most menacing scowl, but it was for naught, he flushed a deep scarlet. How did he know he wouldn’t get away from Athenna’s quarters _totally_ unseen? Cullen grumbled and hung up the cloak with a gentle vigilance. Rylen stayed his grin but allowed the man a few minutes to collect himself in his quarters, changing from his night clothes to his armor, all the while trying to control the snarling knots in his hair. When Cullen slid down the ladder, Rylen was still comfortably seated behind the desk. “Now that I recall, there is only one cloak in Skyhold that possesses that kind of talent!”

“Enough, Knight Captain--”

“—Did the Inquisitor just let you take it?”

“One more word and you’re on latrine duty for a month,” Cullen warned.

“…. Or did you want to give it a go yourself?” He finally rose, clearly holding back his fits of laughter.

“I expect those urinals to be spotless,” Cullen took his seat back from Rylen. The requisitions were still in the same spot as the night’s previous. He groaned internally, the work never left him and as he suspected, a new pile sat on the adjacent end of the desk. He pulled on the top parchment and began reading. Cullen nearly forgot Rylen was still lingering at the door, the same stupid smile plastered onto his smug expression.

“Oh they will be, Commander. I may not have a magic love cloak, but I’ll certainly make those stains disappear!” He cheered.

“Out!” Rylen left then, and surprisingly shut the door quietly behind himself.

Cullen now groaned aloud and leaned back into his chair. A nasty mood was bubbling to the surface, he almost felt sorry for his troops today. It wasn’t fair how the mere mention of the Inquisitor sends him into a flustered mess. Despite that, he should know that woman drives him mad by just looking in his general direction.

And her behavior before was…peculiar to say the least. It’s probably because she’d woken up next to a human, which was a first he was sure. It was the first time he’d woken up next to an elf, not that there was anything wrong with that. Elves were treated just the same as humans in the circles he served in. If not for her tattoos and pointed ears, Cullen would have forgotten half the time she was an elf, that their very friendship teeters on the lines of taboo.

Cullen knew he should have left after that fiasco was over, brushed Athenna’s weak grip off. But he just couldn’t. It was not because of the harmful tendencies she had been leaning towards at the beginning of the night, she clearly regained control. It was much more selfish than that. He simply didn’t _want_ to leave her. Cullen didn’t think Athenna realized the pull she had on him.

In the beginning, he believed it was her influence as the Herald, being the only person in Thedas who could save them all from Coryphaeus. Then it was because the people followed her, and Cullen needed to respect her for their relationship as Advisor and Herald to function correctly. After the fall of Haven, he wasn’t sure why. He _still_ wasn’t sure why. Feelings had always been easy for him to push away, shove into the very corners of his mind and lock them away forever. He did it with Madeline Amell and every other woman afterward who tried to get close to him. But not Athenna Lavellan. By _Andraste_ , why not Athenna Lavellan?

Cullen could convince himself it was only because of how important she was, the need to protect her, that Thedas would fall if she were to die—a migraine pulsed under the bridge of his nose at the very notion. But the vision stuck in his mind, once vibrant purple irises blackened, staring into nothingness. That very thought scared him more than anything else. It wasn’t just because she was important to Thedas. It’s because she was important to him.

His admiration for her stretched beyond mere friendly respects of her strengths, he adored them. She was determined yet open. She was strong in front of the Inquisition yet vulnerable to those she trusts. She forgave people for their misgivings, even Cullen that very night after she had every reason to doubt his sincerity. She was intelligent conversationally just as well as with her daggers. She put others above herself, even when others have said unholy and terrible things toward her. She was kind to those who deserved less. She remained humble, even when she had all this power thrown at her. Athenna was a good person. _That’s_ exactly why she was important to him.

Not that Maddy was not important to him at a time either. But he had to make a choice when the circle fell, his duty—his _sanity_ —or her. Cullen hadn’t thought of those days in a long time, he’d much rather forget them. But Maddy was the last woman who ever made him feel this way. He wasn’t worthy of her, just as he wasn’t worthy of Athenna. His nightmares of Kinloch Hold remind him every night. If he let her see, just as Maddy saw, his inner monster, his inner loathing for those—as Athenna once told him—who were born with something they no choice in, she would despise him. Athenna would see someone broken by his own faith and hatred. She would want nothing to do with him.

Cullen prayed to the holy Maker he would never have to explain that to Athenna.

* * *

The longer Athenna stayed in the library, sorting, the more her mind wandered, and it drew pictures with larger strokes across her mental wounds. After about an hour, she stood and walked towards the Great Hall which had grown with the morning. Before she could decide where to go, a voice called out to her and her heart dropped at the site of Josephine. She appeared impeccable as always. Athenna did note the outer rims of her eyes where she could not conceal with makeup was still puffy. The Antivan requested Athenna’s presence in her office and she contemplated fibbing out of it, but she knew ignoring her advisors was probably not in her best interest. She also respected Josephine more than to ignore her, despite what happened. Once the door slid shut behind them, the always articulate ambassador began to babble out apologies.

Athenna understood common very well, it was second nature. But she could not hear the words Josephine was saying, only studying her beautiful features. Josie’s mask, she realized, was not entirely visible. Was it always that way? Was she always able to see underneath Josie’s usual calm and proper demeanor? She couldn’t recall. Josephine was the first of her advisors to touch Athenna on a personal level, a friend. Her perfectly sculpted brows were arched, and her lip quivered the slightest bit. One would think she’s discussing a possible new alliance or trying to address a delicate noble matter. But Athenna knew. Josephine had hurt her, just as Cullen had. It cracked underneath the Inquisitor and Ambassador frontages straight to Athenna and Josephine.

The shame ate away at Josie through the night, she’d scripted her apology a thousand and one times, yet she stumbled over her words. She could easily smooth away awkward encounters or accidental offensive comments from Bull or Sera but when it came to Athenna, a friend, someone who’s relationship simply could not be swept under the rug left her rather speechless.

“Josephine,” Athenna interrupted the woman’s struggle. “It’s okay,” when she realized the Antivan was still guilt ridden, she added, “We’re okay,” she whispered. How easy forgiveness came to her. It was the Keeper in her memory with all of his knowledge. Forgiveness was something he taught her young, forgiving a friend should always be obvious. Enemies will always be there when they cannot be forgiven. Friends will stay separated. If Athenna can trust Cullen after the whole issue with the letter, she can trust Josephine.

The human’s lips quirked up slightly, not a smile but close enough. She still felt bad, of course. Athenna knew the wounds would need time to heal and surely her trip to Crestwood would help with that.

Josephine assured Athenna that anything to do with her clan would be vetted through her first and foremost above anything else; the same promise Cullen had. Two of her three advisors promised her, and that should have been a comfort. She wasn’t sure if she could talk to Leliana about it yet, though. Which Athenna admitted to Josephine.

“She’ll come around,” Josephine explained, “Leliana is very stubborn with her decisions, she thinks long and hard over them. When she knows she’s made a mistake, she takes it rather harshly on herself.,” the woman frowned.

“You’re saying…she feels bad?” Athenna specifically remembered Leliana expressing how she had no regrets.

“It may not have seemed like it but when she begins to hold onto her schemes too well, it’s the beginnings of her forested doubts.” Josephine gestured towards the war room now, the council would begin soon.

“Huh,” when Athenna pondered it, what Josephine explained did make sense and it matched Leliana. She did recall Josephine telling her about her deep-rooted friendship with Leliana. It gave her hope that Leliana wasn’t as coldhearted as she let on. Still, “I just don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it with her…”

“It’s just another day, Inquisitor. Treat it like that, and she’ll never bring it up,” Just as Josephine opened the door, there Leliana stood, back to them, staring out the window. Athenna’s heart pounded, confrontation was not her friend this morning. The Spymaster turned at the sound, gaze flickering from Josie to Athenna. She had no idea what her expression came across as. Still, Leliana smiled politely, not reaching her eyes, and greeted them both good mornings, True to Josie’s word, the Spymaster did not bring up what happened the previous day and for that, Athenna was unexpectedly grateful. The day could be somewhat normal.

Somehow, normal seemed to be comical when it came to running the Inquisition. Despite the new war room, everything felt routine. It kept Athenna’s emotions harbored and under control. The Inquisitor frontage finally settling into its usual mold. Cullen stomped through the door with a few minutes to spare. Josephine bid him a good morning and he grumbled back to her. Athenna felt herself lean away, but she studied him. He wore his usual armor, with his usual mantel, his hair in its usual pristine perfectness, besides appearing slightly more tired than usual, he should look the same as always, yet he was different. She was not submersing Cullen into his role; Commander. Athenna furrowed her brow when he turned his gaze to her, her thoughts stammered. He was unreadable, as if waiting for instruction. Athenna felt bare and was once again reminded of what he’d seen the night before and that morning. She shoved the self-loathingness away and huffed out what sounded like a mimic of Cassandra’s infamous disgusted grunt.

And yet, with all the articulation that circled between the Inquisitor and the advisors on a daily basis, that one sound was a sufficient reply to his silent query. The sooner she left Skyhold, the more hope she had in leaving these undesired feelings behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer’s block is really kicking my butt. I have so many ideas for different chapters but those are in due time! So when in doubt, I wrote a lot of fluff. I know the Inquisitor really isn’t this awkward but I want to convey that her interactions with humans are still very inexperienced. Add a certain handsome—yet equally awkward—Commander and its just loads of fun to write. Was it selfish? Yeah. Do I regret any of it? Lol nope. 
> 
> In addition, my boyfriend (who is 100000% guilty for my dragon age obsession) pointed out that rogues always use a blackout powder to disappear not a cloak. Well I totally knew that (I did!) but it was my own cannon and there is a story behind it. So bite me!! 
> 
> I was also super excited to officially introduce Madeline (Maddy) Amell. She has been mentioned but now we get more of an insight on Cullen's feelings on her. Fun fact, I never played as Amell, always Surana! I love my elves! But yes, I am so happy to talk about Maddy now and more in the future (foreshadowing, *wink wink*).
> 
> Thanks for all the subscriptions/kudos/comments, each one always gives my heart a little pitter patter of happiness!


	15. Living in the Necropolis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. Fight for Survival- The Klergy  
> 2\. Elements- Lindsey Sterling  
> 3\. Ocean Princess- Thomas Bergensen  
> 4\. Scars- Boy Epic  
> 5\. Better- SYML

There was never a time where Athenna Lavellan felt the intense—almost automatic—need to flee from her role as Herald or Inquisitor. She certainly wasn’t about to now. However, if the mission were less than a priority, she would have turned around the moment she stepped foot in Crestwood. If there was anything that she needed to make clear, it was not the ominous fog or constant rain. She was soundly adaptable to her environments with being a nomad for most of her life. It was not the ethereal atmosphere that shrouded the small town, the constant sense of dread that weighed down heavily on her shoulders. She’d been carrying the weight of Thedas for quite a while as well as the looming doom of the world constantly on her mind. No, none of that.

It _was_ the undead corpses limping toward her, one of her daggers already struck into its eye. It _was_ the fact that it did not react to the flick of her wrist, which usually sent the living down in one movement. It _was_ the fact that this thing had friends and she only had one dagger left.

Athenna was not a chantry sister, but since her own Gods were not answering her pleas, she was about to start reciting verses from the chant of light she did know, in hopes some higher power or another would eradicate these disgusting and abominable things from existence.

Varric sprang into action first next to her, the bolts in Bianca glowed an unnatural amber along the tips; enchanted. The bolts shot out in methodical staccatos, setting the small pack of corpses in front of them aflame. Blackwall sprinted onward and slashed down the ones that were still seemingly…mobile? “Alive” was not the proper term for a corpse that was still moving after being shot with a flaming bolt.

There was an involuntary shudder that rippled across her arms, Solas’s ice magic misted through her and into the herd; an ice wall. They froze in place. The bodies shattered under Blackwall’s sword. The elven mage swerved towards her, and she felt herself halt under his scrutiny. Solas seemed to be the only one to recognize her hesitation towards the undead. He didn’t know of her phobia; or he did and chose politely not to tell her.

The caravan was not alone. Two well-armed men stood at the fork in the road, bearing the undeniable symbol of a griffon on their chests: Grey Wardens, in the flesh. She’d heard the tales but was convinced that—besides Blackwall—none were still in Ferelden since the Blight.

Athenna greeted them as evenly as she could, and they thanked her for their assistance with the undead. She resisted the urge to peek around for more, there would be more. The undead always traveled in herds. She forced herself to look at the one Warden who was beseeching the Inquisition to help the village with the whole rift-in-their-lake-with-undead-spouting-out-of-it problem. When asked why they would not help the village, the warden explained they are searching for one of their own—a traitor named Alistair—and it was imperative he was captured and brought back to Warden Commander Clarel.

“I wish you well then, should we find anything, we will pass the message along,” Blackwall stepped forward.

“Thank you, Warden Blackwall,” he turned to Athenna, “Good Hunting, Inquisitor.” Athenna dipped her head in a nod and the two groups parted ways.

Once they were out of earshot, Athenna turned to Varric, “do you think Hawke would know anything about the missing warden?”

Varric shrugged, “quite possible. Hawke knows about a lot of things. His letter just said to meet him at the edge of New Crestwood,” he pointed to a spot on their damp map of the region. Athenna furrowed her brows and glanced towards the rift.

The shoreline opened to a small inlet, which broadcasted a full image of how massive that rift was. How had the village survived this long? Athenna gnawed on her lip, they would need to pass through New Crestwood to get to the rendezvous.

“Inquisitor?” Solas asked quietly.

“Move out,” Athenna imparted quickly, still unsure of what route she should take. The rest of the caravan followed silently behind and the closer they moved towards New Crestwood, the more resolved she became. The distinct smell of burning bodies wafted into her nostrils, despite the heavy downpour of rain, it was hard to ignore. Whatever was left of the small town’s militia was fighting off the undead that were stalking their borders.

“Help them!” Athenna yelped, daggers in a steel grip. Ice shot passed her and Blackwall was already charging towards a small hoard of the zombies. She immediately rushed to soldiers on the outer flanks of the few ruined houses by the shore and cut down the creatures. She ripped one of them away from an injured soldier, “retreat to the gates!” she yelled. Those who were freed from the corpses, rushed—to the best of their abilities—to New Crestwood.

“It’s the Inquisitor!” One of the villagers shouted. She helped those she could on the flanks, hoping it was enough for them to escape.

To her great fear and disgust, while helping one of the injured, more of the undead sauntered over to her position. The rest of the caravan dealt with the corpses that kept walking out of the water on the adjacent edge of the shore. First a cold hand landed on her shoulder, then her waist, another covered her mouth—the awful smell of brine and rotting flesh filled her nose and caused her to gag. The more breaths she retched, the more air she lost. Her companions were too far away to help her. It was one of those times she wished she had her cloak, but she forgot to get it back from Cullen.

The panic fused with her frustration which resulted in her own shriek. Luckily, the corpses had not restrained her arms yet. Using her elbows, she knocked two of the bodies on both sides of her, while they faltered in step. With new freedom of her limbs, the elf quickly ducked and slid her leg out in a full circle. The undead all fell backwards.

“Inquisitor!” a villager yelled and not a moment too soon, thrust a torch in her direction. Great relief rushed through her when she caught the fire. She began decapitating all the corpses while some of the militia gathered around her with driftwood, settling it into a routine pit as they’d done with the other fires that surrounded the town. Athenna hopped over the wood and laid the torch into the pile. Blue flames ignited quickly, and the wood erupted into a small inferno.

Two pairs of hands took her arms and lunged her towards the open gates of New Crestwood. The wooden doors closed with a loud and secure _click_.

Gulping down corpse-rotting free air, she choked, “is everyone alright?”

“We’re okay, Inquisitor,” Blackwall answered from her right, “Are _you_ alright? You were ambushed when we weren’t watching.”

Surprisingly, she laughed, “ask me later.”

“Lethallan,” Solas’ warning tone countered her humor from her left. She turned to the elf and he was not smiling. If he didn’t know about her phobia, he sure did now. Athenna gulped.

“Tel Telsila,” _Don’t worry_.

“Ar'an'll dirtha” _We shall speak_. The warning even more clear in Elven. Athenna resisted a sigh. While she appreciated Solas’s unwavering protection of her, he treats her as if she were a child with absolutely no years of training under her belt. While she did not train to become the Inquisitor, she was a huntress, she knew how to fight. One thing was for sure, Athenna was not eager to camping with him.

She shuffled out of her friend’s grips and asked the first villager where the mayor was.

“Spider Monkey?” Varric came up to her side when she began her trek up to the house towards the top of the village.

“Hawke will understand, Varric. I will not leave Crestwood defenseless.”

Varric didn’t hesitate, granting her a firm nod, “Say no more, these people need our help.” Athenna smiled at him and gave him a stern pat on the shoulder. Defeating Coryphaeus was a top priority, but she refused to walk away when these people had been denied help for so long—ten years.

The mayor somberly explained that old Crestwood was flooded by the darkspawn during the blight ten years prior. He gave Athenna directions to the dam controls inside Caer Bronach; he warned her of the bandits that had taken over the hold. Something about the way the man spoke was different than the other shemlen in the village. They were happy to be alive but there was a deep sadness to him. Athenna shook it off, not an issue she could really worry about at present, not when she had a rift to close, yet again.

“Nothing is ever easy, is it?” Athenna sighed as they exited the house.

“Not in the Inquisition,” Blackwall replied dryly.

Varric snorted, “Not in Thedas, Hero.”

The group made their way up the muddy slopes to the seemingly abandoned keep. However, when the fog cleared, there was a barricade against the door. Athenna found herself cursing, yet still ordered the rest to take cover. Sneaking in was out of the question. Being a Huntress, Athenna _loathed_ using the direct approach on an enemy, it almost gave them the advantage. Her prey cannot know she is there before they are dead.

As Athenna debated her strategy, a creak from the battlements had her turning. Her heart went into her throat as two figures eased up from a crouch. Naturally, Athenna shrunk into the shadows of her cover. Varric peeked up from the cover across the way.

“Varric!” Athenna hissed.

Varric ignored her, squinting at the taller figure, “There is no way…” he muttered. The two dropped down silently. Athenna winced, anticipating inevitable commotion that would follow the intrusion. Nothing. Were they who she thought they were? Or just more bandits patrolling the battlements? When she glanced over, Varric was gone. “Tethras!” Athenna nearly shrieked. When he didn’t answer, she sucked in a deep breath and broke cover, following after him to the blockade. He was leaning his ear to the wood. Athenna didn’t argue, it was not the time. There were no more sounds than the constant fall of the rain onto the keep and a few voices from the inside.

“Do you trust me?” Varric’s voice gave her a small shudder. While Athenna was annoyed at him for charging forward, this mission was for him, to find Hawke. If that figure was Hawke, he would need help and she was not about to let the Champion fend for himself. Losing Hawke also meant a lost advantage against Coryphaeus, a risk she would not take. And Varric has given her no reason not to trust him; he was the person she went to when she couldn’t trust her advisers, the person who empathized with her situation, convinced her to stay with one foot out the door. The elf nodded to the dwarf. Deliberately, he pulled Bianca from his back. Simultaneously, Athenna clutched her blades and peered back at Blackwall and Solas. They both stood, weapons ready. With one hand on both doors, Varric pushed through the threshold of Caer Bronach.

It was…calm. Calm like the moment before a dragon swoops upon an unsuspecting village about to send it into a blaze. The two figures they spotted were nowhere to be found. Even worse, the bandits were frozen amidst their daily activities of their stolen keep, keeping a hard glare on the entering group. Athenna felt the golden breastplate—which gleamed faintly with the Inquisition’s emblem—weigh heavier on her chest.

After a long silence, Blackwall huffed behind them, “Shit.” Thus, the chaos began. With their usual lack of reason, the bandits began attacking the caravan. The fight birthed the clang of daggers to longswords, arrows whizzing, magic crackling, and shields bashing. Most of all the cries of battle summoned even more bandits.

Athenna held a surprising advantage over her opponents. Most bandits came from little homes or poor towns, with no formal training to fight. She could easily sleek past the humans and attack their undefended flanks.

Then came the prowlers, like her, they skulked into the darkness, attacking from the flank. Despite being without her cloak, she was able to dance through the interlocking duels between her friends and the highwaymen. Too distracted by their own battles, she was able to pluck every one of the bandit rogues from coming too close to her companions.

She’d improved since her fight with her foes in Val Royeaux, eyes always to her flank and back before each strike on a foe. Some would call it paranoid, she would call it insurance on her life. Her face was becoming more familiar in Thedas, some synonymized her with a deity. Therefore, her shadows were fading into uninhabitable corners. There were multiple prowlers in the small space but luckily, her daggers found home in their necks.

The bandit’s numbers started to dwindle but Athenna was not a fool, she knew there were more because, honest to Gods, why wouldn’t there be?

“Push forward!” She yelled, already trudging up the stairs of the keep. The troop fell in line behind her. Varric shot at the single bandits coming down the stairs from the top of the keep, narrowing the field of scope. Athenna was able to pull the caravan up to the top where a chief waited. A large man with an even bigger—and sharper—battle axe settled in his massive grip. Prowlers leaped from behind him. Athenna, with long but quiet steps, moved to the flanks, shadowing the rogues. Athenna spotted the light wisps of Winter’s Grasp that slowed down the mammoth sized chief. Blackwall charged straight towards the man, distracting him from his assault on Varric who was shooting down the other prowler that was dancing to Solas’ flank.

With the prowlers taken care of, all they needed to focus on was the chief. The bad news was he was adapting to Solas’ ice magic. With that set back, the mage switched it up and moved onto his Fade Magic, trying to merely distract him from Blackwall and Varric who were standing too close. With a loud roar, the man swung his axe, propelling both Blackwall and Varric into the nearby stone wall. The shock of his swing propelled him, the chief turned towards Solas and slammed the axe into the ground a few feet away. The vibration from the impact knocked the elf off his feet. His staff fell from his grasp as he fell over half the edge of the platform. All that was left was Athenna.

She readied her blades, heart hammering in her chest. She tried to leap from the incoming axe, but it was no use, she was too close. The ground shook under her and she lost her balance. Her daggers clanged against the slippery rocks. She scrambled to grab them but with the constant quaking of the ground, she was unable to find them. On her back, staring up at the man he huffed a deep chuckle, “what will you do now, little Herald?” Without giving her a chance to reply, he raised the massive weapon once more. Getting ready to swiftly roll over again, the man’s throat was slit open, a glint of two small swords peaked from behind; blood splattered from his mouth as he choked on his own blood. A blade pierced his chest then, bloodied tip pointing out. As the blade pulled out, the man went with it, falling over the edge of the platform. His body hit the ground below with a dull thump. Athenna still gazed at the sky in shock at what just happened. Either she reacted slowly to the figures before her or they moved. A woman stared down at her, dark hair soaked underneath her bandana, her skin melted with the stormy clouds, but her eyes were a soft glow.

“You…are a lot smaller than I expected,” the woman who saved her life sounded amused, a teasing smirked played on her full lips. Athenna took her outstretched hand wordlessly. The man, another human, was assisting Varric who was also baffled.

“Rivaini?”

“Varric,” she nodded, unsurprised, “How are you, old friend?” she turned towards him once she hoisted Athenna up.

He chuckled, “Alive and kicking once again, thank you,” Athenna felt her cheeks burn with guilt. She’d failed again, letting the enemy take advantage, needing to be saved again.

Then it dawned on her, Varric called someone in his book “Rivaini.” Two gold daggers rested on her hips, a tight white tunic wrapped around her accentuating curves seductively, hips moving with a slow grace as she helped Varric up. The faint Rivain accent seeped through her low voice.

“Isabela,” Athenna stated.

She turned back, the smirk now stretched into a grin, “it’s good to see you regaining awareness, baby girl.”

“What are you doing here?” Varric asked, closer now.

“Long stories and I’m terrible at telling them,” she deflected with humor, “these bandits were becoming too much of a nuisance.”

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Varric asked, one brow raised. 

“Ha!” Isabela threw her head back, “believe it or not, I can be tamed. If only a little.”

“Hawke needs a medal…or a dozen,” he replied, “speaking of which…”

“We’ve set up camp just on the outskirts of town in a nearby cave. After I took care of the bandits, I was going to seek you out,” she shrugged, “Hawke had to stay behind, he’ll tell you why.” Without a moment’s notice, she turned on her heel, towards the entrance to Caer Bronach. Athenna held out her arm to stop her colleagues from following the pirate.

“Hold on, we still have the matter of the lake,” Athenna jabbed her thumb rather violently in the direction of the rift. While Solas and Blackwall stopped on a dime, Varric seemed to hesitate, one foot behind Isabela. Athenna felt a pang of betrayal lurch in her chest. She knew Varric and Hawke were close but to abandon their original goal?

To her relief, Varric relaxed and leaned towards the caravan, “the Inquisitor’s right. We can’t leave these folks with the undead. And I’m growing more suspicious of that mayor,” he locked his stare with Athenna. Her mouth quirked in a grateful smile.

“Ah, Varric, always so noble,” Isabela rested a hand on her hip, “Hawke’s going to whine now.”

“Keep him busy, you’re always good at that.”

A mischievous grin worked through her full lips, “it’s one of my favorite past times.” One part of Varric’s story Athenna would never understand; the relationship between Hawke and Isabela. Both too different, more probable they would challenge each other as opposed to standing together through it all. Hawke, grounded with a rational head on his shoulders against Isabela, insecure of the people she surrounded herself with and flighty when the situation appeared grim.  Athenna was surprised they were still together. Though, due to recent events, she wasn’t sure she should be judging what seemed to be a happy relationship between two people who loved each other.

Athenna held back a sigh, Carvin’s glare flickered through her mind. “Don’t take too long though, we’re guarding something rather time sensitive.”

The Inquisitor furrowed her brows, is that why Hawke didn’t come himself? She was taken back when she saw Isabela but not Hawke at her side. What were they hiding? Was this why Hawke needed Varric? For protection?

Before she could ask anymore, the pirate vanished.

* * *

His breath shuttered, jaw sore from shivering against the hard, freezing stone floor of the circle. A melodic laugh flowed through his ears. He heard himself reciting the chant of light but how could he be chanting when he was convulsing so much.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_

“Cullen,” Maddy’s usual soft, even voice sung to him.

_I shall embrace the Light._

Two hands slid down his shoulders. He would flinch, but her grip was iron. He shuttered harder, she was freezing. He could feel ice forming through his armor.

“Cullen,” she whispered now, her frosty breath chilled his ear. Her voice was frantic, on the edge of hysterical begging.

 _I shall weather the storm_.

His eyes ached from being squeezed shut, huddling around the only light he knew; his faith. He pushed the hope as far into the depths of his thoughts as possible. He will remain vigilant. He _will not_ give into her treachery. Not this time.

“Let me in,” the demon spoke with such confidence, that his self-control was nothing more than a thin plate of glass. He shook her grip off violently.

 _I shall endure_.

Silence. The cold stilled. The only sound was the hum of the mana that fueled his prison. With great hesitance, he opened his eyes only slightly. Nothing was in his immediate line of vision. The demon was gone…for the moment. He controlled his relief as it beat in heavy waves against his cage of willpower. A strangled cry emerged from in front of him.

As with every nightmare he has, he lifted his gaze, even when everything screamed at him not to, that he knows what happened next. Bright blue irises bored into his, tears streamed down her perfect face. Her usual smooth, calm hands were balled into tight fists, flushed against the wall of magic.

“Cullen,” the girl choked, strangled.

Then anger built inside of him, his faith fueled his bravery, “Get away from me!” he screamed.

“It’s just me, Maddy,” more figures stood behind her, one of the smaller stepped forward. Cullen could only come to one conclusion; reinforcements, “please Cullen—”

“Silence, demon!” his voice echoed violently off the cage. “I will not fall for your tricks!” The mage flinched. Hurt crossed her features. He chanted hoarsely, “ _What you have created, no one can tear asunder._ ” He repelled from the creature who wore her face. The only way he could retain his mind was to convince himself nothing was real. It was all an illusion from this demon that had been harassing and torturing him for Maker knows how long. He would prevail.

More silence. Longer silence. It nearly convinced him the fight was over. But he and his cell remained. The figures disappeared except for one. The smaller of those that stood before. He could just make out the silhouette of her pointed ears. Faint green illuminated her cheeks. She sat in Maddy’s place. She was confused and distraught. He winced from the image, _not her_.

Wide purple eyes pierced him. _Maker,_ no. The anchor flared, they both watched as it broke through the barrier. The wall melted under her touch. A cold breath chilled the back of his neck. “She’s right there,” the demon murmured, “all you have to do is walk over.” The Inquisitor took no note of the desire demon at his side.

“Abomination,” he hissed at the Inquisitor. “Back!” he never thought in this universe or the next, he would draw his sword on Athenna Lavellan. She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. But his arm was restrained. “Get off of me,” he sneered at the demon.

“Cullen,” Athenna beckoned. “Let’s get out of here,” she held out the anchor.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” he snapped at the illusion.

The same expression of pain Maddy wore echoed onto Athenna’s features. Her anchor was still held out, tempting him to finally escape the confines of his magical torture. How long had he waited? How many dreams had he suffered through? To finally leave this place behind? To take Athenna’s outstretched hand and forget?

Without thinking much on it, he moved to meet her, and relief settled over the hurt. The demon no longer held him down. Just as he took it, wisps of the Fade burst forth from the anchor. Athenna knelt and shrieked. She rocked her stare towards the exit. She glared righteously as Coryphaeus stepped forward, gaze on her. An orb was settled in his palm and the anchor flared again.

“Release me,” a voice that did not belong to Athenna left her lips. Cullen recoiled from her and the darkspawn magister. The desire demon caught him by the back of his shoulders. He took the opportunity and reared back at her, his sword sliced across her torso. The temptress squealed and melted along his blade.

The familiar heat from the anchor brought his attention back to Athenna whose body was crackling, pieces of the Fade branching out across her face, tracing her vallaslin perfectly, just as when she closed the breach.

“You may run from here,” Coryphaeus finally spoke to Cullen, his deep voice rumbled through the stones of the tower, Uldred’s prison fizzled out, “But you’ll never escape the wrath of a god.”

Coryphaeus forced the orb into the air, Athenna’s arm shot up and mimicked him—all the while screaming with defiance—and a rift opened through the ceiling into the sky. The walls of the tower dissolved around them. It spread, blood diluting water, the blue skies of Thedas died with the force of the Anchor.

“Cullen,” her voice willed his stare away from the disaster. She was transparent, a faint green silhouette of her former self.

“Inquisitor,” he choked.

She spoke with a deep elven dialect, none of the words she said he knew. She was a vessel for something far older, more alien than the woman he knew. Athenna grew frantic at his blank expression. She cried his name again, the only word he did understand.

Coryphaeus’ voice boomed behind her, more words he couldn’t decipher. He could only guess he was speaking an ancient Tevene. She stiffened at what the magister had spoken but nodded. She reached out to him again and he did not resist.

Athenna’s shoulders shook. “Cullen,” she begged once more. He felt himself petrify, her freezing cold nails found his neck.

He held his breath, ready for his death once more.

“Cullen,” Josephine’s voice cut through the trance. Cullen blinked away the nightmare and he was at the war table.

He was on Athenna’s side of the map, both Leliana and Josephine gave him curious gazes. How long had he been there? When had he awoken? Was he still dreaming? Did he forget getting up that morning?

His eyes squeezed shut through the pinching of his fingers against his nose, his gloves came back darker, a cold sweat formed. “My apologies, Ambassador, what did you say?”

She opened her mouth but quickly shut it. It seemed she was reconsidering her words. Leliana remained indifferent, twirling a raven figurine between her fingers.

“The Inquisitor’s letter from Crestwood?” Letter? What letter? Athenna made it to Crestwood already? How many days had it been since she left? Cullen couldn’t formulate a proper sentence without sounding mad, he simply held out his hand. Josephine wordlessly passed the missive to him.

Cullen steadied his trembling fingers that grasped the parchment. He took two quiet deep breaths. The ink on the page was splattered, smudging Athenna’s quick but legible script.

_To my advisors,_

_I’m hoping all of you are well. I have learned way too many things in Crestwood for one letter. I will do my best to summarize._

_One, if you all have not yet guessed, Varric’s contact is none other than the Champion of Kirkwall, himself._

_Two, he is in Crestwood assisting a warden friend of his, Alistair Theirin. Yes, the Alistair who helped the Hero of Ferelden defeat the Archdemon._

_Three, Alistair explained that he and the Wardens have been hearing “The Calling,” where their connection to Darkspawn solidify and eventually, they travel to the Deep Roads to die honorably before succumbing to the blight. Alistair believes there is a connection between Coryphaeus and the Wardens suddenly hearing the Calling._

_There is much more to explain, and I don’t have nearly enough ink or parchment to do so. We will begin investigating more on my order._

_We are on route back to Skyhold to recuperate and plan._

_Sylaise’s blessings,_

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

_Post Script: Please don’t tell Cassandra about the Champion. I’d rather bring her the news gently and prefer to return to Skyhold in one piece._

Cullen took his time reading over the letter more than he needed to. Thankfully, the Inquisitor’s business distracted him from his muted anxiety over the intensity of his lyrium withdraw. Leliana and Josephine waited patiently. When he lowered the parchment and met their stares. Cullen passed the letter back to her and she rolled it neatly while speaking.

“The Inquisitor also reclaimed Caer Bronach from a group of Bandits,” she waved a smaller missive, “I’ve sent Charter and a few scouts to clean out the rest of the Keep. No one has come to take it back, so it seems as though it belongs to the Inquisition for the time being.”

“I’ve sent word to Arl Teagan, I do not see how he would not let us use the fortress for now,” Josephine gazed down at her clipboard, perhaps another note, “I’ve also spoken to a few of the local merchants, they’re interested in setting up shop for us once it’s cleared out,” she sounded quite pleased.

The Inquisition extended its influence in Ferelden with its own Keep. They didn’t have to waste time or resources trying to build one. It seemed with what he’d heard of Crestwood, the Inquisition’s presence could only improve their current situation. He would send a few soldiers as well. He informed his two comrades. They nodded in affirmation and stared at him, waiting. Cullen raised an brow while slowly moving one of his pieces next to Leliana’s over Crestwood. They stayed their silence, waiting still. “Was there something else?”

“You tell us,” Leliana asked. Cullen froze under their scrutiny. Did they noticed his behavior? The slowness? How could he explain he didn’t remember the entire morning?

“Tell you…?”

“The Inquisitor’s report?” Josephine gestured towards the sealed letter in front of him. It was pressed with the Inquisitor’s violet wax seal. For a thrilling moment, he believed it was the same letter he read before but Leliana still had it rolled into one of her many pockets. It seemed Josephine also had a report.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered as he slipped a finger under the seal.

“Cullen is everything—” Josephine began.

“I’m fine,” he spoke sharply. A small gasp brought his gaze to hers and he immediately felt guilt. “Thank you,” he pronounced more softly. Josephine quieted.

Athenna’s penmanship was calmer in her report, she’d had time to write this one. Still, droplets of smudged ink peppered the page.

_Commander Cullen,_

_I have sealed the rift that has been the center of Crestwood’s undead problem. When we captured Caer Bronach, it was not just to gain the Keep but to drain the lake that flooded Old Crestwood during the blight, so we could reach the rift. Crestwood’s Mayor, Gregory Dedrick, claimed the Darkspawn flooded it during the Blight ten years ago. His explanation seemed valid, but its execution was shaky at best and an outright lie at worst._

_Dedrick quarantined refugees in the caves underneath Old Crestwood and the town itself. According to him, they’d all had the Blight and it was to protect those who didn’t have the disease._

_When the Darkspawn attacked the village_ —several splotches of ink followed the sentence, a struggle— _Cullen, the Mayor flooded old Crestwood. He believed if he murdered those who had the Blight with the Darkspawn that it would justify his crimes to save the rest. The undead who were attacking the village and us were those he killed._

_I want him found at any means necessary. Despite his reasoning, he’s a murderer and must stand in my judgement. Do everything you can to bring him back to Skyhold for Justice. I’ve left all the clues, including his letter of confession, in this envelope._

_I trust whoever you send will bring him back in one piece._

_I will see you when I return to Skyhold._

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

Names cut through his mind as to who he could send and relayed them to Leliana. A scout could ask if any villagers had seen the mayor in the past few weeks.

The war council went on with Leliana claiming a group of mages were making their way to Skyhold; leftovers who stayed behind to help the refugees in Redcliffe. Quite a few were healers as well. Luckily, the Inquisition was in constant need of them.

Josephine sent for an invitation to the Orlesian peace talks at Winter Palace. If there was any way to prevent the empress’s murder, the Inquisition had to maintain a position in those talks. With that new information, the war council ended.

Cullen was the first to leave with new comfort. Athenna’s words were warm in his jacket pocket, _I trust whoever you send_ , despite their awkward morning, she still believed in him. Hopefully he could take better care of her trust this time. He would keep himself together the best he could. If only she knew how much those small words she wrote gave him clarity to see ahead.

Cullen found himself in the armory, taking one of the practice swords. His face reflected tiredly. He let out a breath he was holding. The best time to run drills was when he didn’t want to at all. Harritt touched his fist to his heart as Cullen passed. He regarded the man with a quick nod. Cullen kept his other glove stuffed in his pocket, the Inquisitor’s letter nestled between his fingers.

He sucked in a deep breath, Skyhold’s crisp air sobered him as he walked towards the practice fence. Rylen was drilling a couple of recruits. He turned at Cullen’s approach and offered a greeting. His smile said, “Good Morning,” but his expression acknowledged Cullen’s pain even if he did not say it out loud.

The Commander sighed and readied his stance.

 _I will see you when I return to Skyhold_.

He felt a tugging on his lips. Yes. Yes, she would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: *In the mushu voice, rising from the depths of thousands of moving boxes* I LIVEEEEE! Not only did I conquer my writer’s block with this chapter, but I am returning with a vengeance, yes! I’m so sorry its been a couple months, but life caught me sitting on the sidelines with my laptop on my lap and headphones in my ears and said, “Miss me, bitch?”  
> Anyway! I moved in with my wonderful boyfriend (the same one who is [still] 10000000% responsible for my DA addiction) and it was a lot of adjusting. I always had this story calling back to me. I have so many ideas, but they need to be organized so writer’s block will maintain its usual annoying presence. I shall do my best to post more often but as always, I can’t promise anything!  
> Thank you so much for all the subscriptions and kudos and comments! It means everything to me! Keep them coming, tell your friends!


	16. The Lost Huntress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist:  
> 1\. Night Bus- Lucy Rose  
> 2\. Safe and Sound- Taylor Swift (Feat. The Civil Wars)  
> 3\. Feel Again- OneRepublic  
> 4\. Next to Me- Civil Twilight  
> 5\. Magic- Coldplay  
> 6\. Trust You- Rob Thomas

The wind was soft near the mountain ranges of Wycome. It made Nessina hate sentry duty less, if only a little. Still, it was a long night and her thoughts wondered. She didn’t mean for them to but they’re free as halla. A sigh left her lips. _Ma Halla_. Ness shook the thoughts off. She couldn’t allow herself to ponder of her again.

The young huntress fixed her eyes on one spot, ever the vigilant little eagle. Or at least she tried to concentrate. That worked for a total of five minutes. She couldn’t understand why Alhannon made her do it. He explained it was only because she picked the shortest branch of all the clan’s hunters, but that man knew but oh, how that old skuzzball _knew_ she loathed sentry duty., Only one huntress she _ever knew_ loved sentry duty and—Ness knocked her head against the wood of the tree she sat on. Bad Ness!

Memories crossed her mind less the more months that passed on. If she kept up her concentration and restrain from worrying about her closest friend in all the world—more a sister really— “Andruil preserve me! Enough!” Nessina howled.

“I haven’t even started talking yet,” A voice from below answered and Nessina nearly fell. She scrambled but lost her balance on a branch, the elf very nearly caught herself. Now she hung from the tree by her fingertips, defenseless. She searched for the voice almost too rapidly.

“What in the world—I mean—who goes there?!” Despite her current position, her voice came out as a confident bark.

The voice scuffed, “oh yes, the clan is in good hands if intruders ever do come again.” The realization of who it was came with the glint of moonlight that shone against his pale skin, Dirthamen’s protection created dark lines among his bright features.

“Carvin! You’re safe!” It had been weeks since his sudden departure from the clan. She jumped from the branch and threw her arms around the First. He stiffened. Then came the second realization, the reason he had been gone. She snapped away from him.

He furrowed his brows, “Ness, are you—ow!” her fist successfully slammed into his shoulder.

“You idiot!” He rubbed the place she hit him. When he didn’t answer, she punched his other shoulder, “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.

“Make me! We didn’t know those Shemlen! They could have been using Thenn to…” her name hurt on the way out. She couldn’t continue. Purple irises and a grin lit inside her tired mind. Her heart ached. _Oh Thenn…_ she thought melancholy. Wait…If Carvin went with the Inquisition scout then—"Is she okay?!”

Carvin was still rubbing his arm, cursing. Nessina caught rustling from the camp, but it didn’t matter who was awake or who wasn’t. _Athenna_. “Carvin, _please_ ,” she shook his shoulders now.

The mage groaned and trapped her wrists, “Get off of me, Ness!” The huntress gripped harder.

“What happened to Athenna?!” she shrieked.

“That’s enough, Nessina,” an older voice spoke up. Both the elves froze at the sight of the Keeper walking towards them. A few of the clan hesitantly followed behind. One stood in his shadow. Somber glowing eyes slid past her to Carvin. Her brows furrowed, frightened curiosity. Nessina wished she could reach out and comfort her. But what words had Ladara been told in her life that ended in lies? The huntress bit her lip and gazed to their leader.

“Deshan—” She began

“I said…enough. Your hollering frightened the clan,” he turned back to the small crowd, “Nothing of concern, my people. You may return to your beds.” Small murmurs birthed from her kin, but they sauntered off none the less. Well…besides Ladara. She stayed and the Keeper did not dismiss her.

Once they were all alone, the Keeper turned his attention to his First, “Carvin…I am pleased to see you’re not harmed. That being said—”

“You had us worried sick!” Nessina interrupted. Deshan shot her a look.

“Sorry. Done helping.” She slunk back. The elf peered at Ladara who’s expression flickered. Ness could have sworn the woman cracked a smirk.

“Carvin,” the younger mage kept his face indifferent, “I don’t believe I have to tell you what you did wrong.”

Carvin pursed his lips with a moment’s hesitation before replying, “I know, Keeper. But it had to be me. I had to see for myself.”

“Oh?” The boy appeared ready to flinch, “did we not agree on a representative?”

“Yeah, me,” Ness spoke flatly.

Deshan didn’t stop her that time but did continue. “Pray tell me, why did it have to be you?”

His reply was automatic and hurtful, “Ness is too young to venture out on her own. We didn’t know anything about this Inquisition. You’re the Keeper, you must stay with the Clan. Ness is a huntress, she must protect the clan. If anyone should find Thenn, it would be me.”

“Please!” Ladara’s muted voice was hoarse. Carvin froze at the sound. She was shaking, the fear was trying to take back her voice, rare and wonderful as it was. “My….” She struggled, Carvin was already reaching out to her, an automatic gesture from years of tending to her, whenever he could, however he could. The woman shrugged away from him, her silvery brunette braids flowing with the movement, “my…. daughter?” she was begging. Athenna’s mother sucked in deep breaths and beat down her anxiety. Deshan did not move to comfort her. He knew how little it helped but he granted her his gentle regard.

Nessina however moved to Ladara’s side and gripped her fingers. More for support rather than comfort. The huntress felt her self shake, the former panic over her friend’s fate gripped her insides.

Carvin stared between them, softening to a point of melancholy. He took a deep breath, “Thenn is fine.” The relief that surged through Nessina nearly brought her to Carvin’s feet. _Oh, thank Elgar’nan, thank you June, Andruil, Ghilan’lain, Falon’Din, Mythal, Sylaise…hell! Thank the Dread Wolf!_ Athenna was alive. All those months, not knowing, wondering if Falon’Din found her.

Ladara squeezed Ness’s hand, staggered breaths were her only reply. Her other hand found her heart, which was on the verge of breaking again. Ness wrapped an arm around Ladara’s shoulders and pulled her close. If anyone needed to hear about Athenna more than Nessina, it was Ladara. The loss of her husband nearly killed her so many years ago but to lose her daughter as well? Ness couldn’t even imagine it.

But Carvin stayed his melancholy. This made Ness pause. There was more. Of course, there was. Why was she not with him? Is she still at that place? The place where the sky was held back? Was it real? Carvin saw all of Ness’ questions.

“Continue, my First,” Deshan encouraged.

“Athenna has…changed,” he spoke the word almost venomously. Ness watched Ladara who was still basking in relief. “She’s not…a prisoner to the Inquisition…she’s not even an agent!” Was there even an Inquisition? Was it all a ploy for the mage-templar war? How could there be more? And how could Thenn change? _Gods, spit it out, Carve_! “She’s the Inquisitor.” A pause while they all contemplated what that meant. “She _leads_ them.” Another pause. Ness couldn’t begin to formulate how that was possible. “A bunch of chantry-humping Shemlen! Against some kind of maleficarum!”

The news left the air still. Athenna of Clan Lavellan was leading the infamous Chantry Inquisition. That didn’t sound right at all. Ladara didn’t appear upset and the Keeper seemed contemplative. Nessina was simply confused. “So…she’s not coming back?”

Carvin clicked his tongue, annoyed, “don’t you get it?!” his anger now flashed upon his features, “she has her shemlen!” Ness recoiled from his words. The clan had always been kind with the humans, it kept them safer rather than sealing themselves into solitude. He continued, “she doesn’t _need_ us!”

Something inside Ness snapped, “Don’t talk about ma Halla that way!” No matter what he’d seen or heard. That was not Thenn, that was not her friend! Not in this lifetime or the next! This Inquisition, they had to be holding her. She wouldn’t stay willingly, would she?

Carvin was ready with a rebuttal but Deshan placed a strong grip on his shoulder. “That’s enough,” he exclaimed sharply, “Carvin, we will speak more of this privately. Off with you.”

“But—”

“I will not repeat myself.” The young mage regarded the ground. The melancholy returned. He looked to Ladara who was concerned.

“Ir Abelas,” he whispered to her before turning around and heading toward the camp.

Ladara shrugged from Nessina’s grasp. She called out to her, but Ladara waved her off. Deshan did not follow her.

Peace settled over the frigid environment. However, Ness’s mind was still running in circles. Gazing at the Keeper, she realized what it could mean now that Thenn was Inquisitor. “Keeper,” Deshan peered back at her, a calm appearance settled into his features. Nessina could never grasp his mannerisms, even in the worst of times, he managed to keep his peace. “Please, she’s not—I mean she can’t just…” she couldn’t formulate any words besides incoherent begging. “She wouldn’t do this, leave us? She couldn’t!” If she led the Inquisition, did she believe in the Chantry? Her heart twisted at the idea. After everything Athenna went through, did she think changing her fate would solve her problems?

“Da’len,” her thoughts halted at Deshan’s voice, “be at ease.”

“But if she believes in the Maker, in _Andraste_ , she can’t be—”

“I know,” he emphasized.

“Please, Deshan,” her voice shook. Thenn could be exiled. If she didn’t believe as they did, she couldn’t be Dalish, she couldn’t come home. Tears welled inside.

“Da’len,” he urged, “breathe.” Ness did as she was told and sucked in the cool night air. Her mind settled at the Keeper’s voice.

It wasn’t until her heart stopped hammering that he continued, “I know Athenna. I’ve known her since she was born. Much of Silvhen shines through her.” The mention of Thenn’s papa still peppers her soul in sadness. “If Athenna has chosen to stay with the Inquisition, it is simply because she feels she must. The reason why? I’m not sure myself.”

“Do you think she’s converted?” Ness pondered.

“I cannot say for sure. Athenna is not quick to abandon her faith. We will not know unless she speaks with us.” The huntress observed her feet.

“So, that’s it? We never see her again?” That sentence burned her tongue on the way out. Athenna grinned again inside her thoughts. _I’ll be back before you can miss me_ , she had promised. _Too late, you liar_ , Nessina thought back bitterly.

“We have done what we can for the time being. Athenna’s agents know where we are,” he paused but continued, softer, “they may not be of the people, but they trust and protect one of ours. If she wants to communicate with us, she has the means, and if we need to send her news, Carvin knows where she is.” He sounded quite confident with that last bit, Ness pointed out. “I will talk with him privately, if he doesn’t tell me where to go tonight, he will eventually. I believe that.”

“If you think it will happen, then I trust you, Deshan,” Nessina was rueful. Carvin was stubborn and there were clearly things he did not tell the clan about his visit to Skyhold. Now she frowned. She still didn’t have the answers she wanted. Athenna should be home, with the clan. Nessina couldn’t wrap her head around the situation.

“Is there something else, Da’len?”

“I just miss her, Keeper. I miss her so much.” She scrubbed a tear that escaped. Thenn was Nessina’s everything. She always had something to say. Nessina could confide in her with her problems. Now she’s never felt so alone.

“I understand. As do I,” he grasped her shoulder gently, “take solace in the fact she is safe for now. That was more than we knew before the sun set tonight.” Deshan took his leave then and Nessina climbed back up to her sentry spot.

Nessina did not feel better. Thenn was safe…for now. But how long would ‘for now’ last? Sure, the clan was friendly with the shemlen, but they never _lived_ among them. Elves don’t lead humans. It’s against nature. Humans only care for humans.

Just because Lavellan was kind only gives the humans hesitation towards treating them viciously. More than a few times, trades ended in squabbles. Nessina shivered, she tried to not look forward to the days she would have to stand guard with the craftsmen while they traded.

For now, Nessina prayed for Athenna; prayed for her strength, her success…and her eventual return home.

* * *

Skyhold’s silhouette appeared just beyond the horizon as the sun rose above the Frostback mountains. It would still be a few hours. The caravan had camped for a few hours the night previous before taking off on horseback for the final leg of the journey. Athenna had been away from Skyhold for a month. While the distance healed many of her wounds, they pulsed with every step they took towards the fortress.

Many stresses await her from the moment she stepped through those gates. One of those stresses was Cassandra. Athenna scripted every explanation she could for the warrior. Every scenario ended in something being broken or worse…burned to the ground. Then the moment she does break then news to Cassandra about Hawke, she needed to make sure Varric was someplace safe because he would be her target.

Varric of course offered to explain himself but she refused. With Varric’s smart mouth, he’d more likely harm the situation than help it.

The thudding of hooves coming closer brought her head up and around. “It seems you’re thinking pretty hard up here. I can see smoke coming out of your ears.” Alistair, the Warden they’d rescued from Crestwood, rode alongside her with a lopsided grin. How odd to be in the same presence of a legend, someone she heard about when she was first told about the fifth blight. The Hero of Ferelden being the heroic maiden in the tale, Alistair was her right-hand man. He helped her slay the archdemon and save Ferelden.

 “Just trying to keep the peace once we reach Skyhold,” Athenna sighed, “Hawke’s gonna be a sore spot for a certain seeker.”

“Ah, yes Varric told me about Lady Pentaghast. That’s a lot of work for one man. I can’t say I’m jealous.”

Athenna snorted, “you should be so grateful.”

Another horse rode up, “don’t be absurd, you’d love the attention,” Hawke snarked.

Despite being Inquisitor, Athenna felt very small next to Alistair and Hawke.

“I don’t know if I told you this, but I don’t play well with others,” the warden quirked a snicker, “apparently I say the wrong thing entirely too much. Besides, I like fading into the background, no one ever sees me coming.”

“Maybe because they don’t want to,” Hawke replied.

“Ha!” Alistair threw his head back, blonde hair glimmering in the bit of sunlight that glared over the mountains. “I’m what you call ‘a nuisance.’ It takes a special kind of annoying to get your entire order to hunt you down.”

The two continued rambling jokes back and forth. Athenna was warmed at their comradery. It was unsurprising, however. While Hawke stood with the mages in Kirkwall, he was vehemently against blood magic. And even if Alistair seemed comfortable around the wisps of mana, the former templar knew what the Wardens were doing was wrong. Summoning demons doesn’t solve problems, it creates them.

They would all have to work together in order to figure out what was going on with the Wardens and find a way to help them.

“Inquisitor!” Hawke’s voice cut through her reverie.

“Huh?!” She jerked. The sun was now beaming overhead. Skyhold now enveloped more of the sky. She could just make out her soldiers patrolling the battlements.

“Inquisitor, you have enough on your plate,” his brown eyes were sincere, “allow me to see to Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Hawke, I appreciate it, but I really don’t—”

“Please. This poor woman has been hunting me for years. The least I could do is show her how all the work went to waste,” the champion exclaimed.

Athenna exhaled, “I’m going to regret this.”

“Probably,” Hawke shrugged.

* * *

It was a surprisingly warm day for Skyhold. Cullen could almost feel sweat in his shoulders. Which he hadn’t experienced since leaving the Free Marches. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. Quite frankly, he enjoyed the chill in the air Skyhold was lacking. It reminded him of home.

Warm weather made him think of Kirkwall. Of the long days of patrolling the Gallows, the sun beating on his heavy armor, the sword of mercy carving into his bare chest, the flames that kissed his cheeks the day the mages rebelled—

“I’ve stumped you that hard, have I?” a musical voice broke his trance.

The man blinked a few times and regained himself through his surroundings. Few voices bounced off the old bricks of Skyhold, wind rustled the freshly planted herbs along the stone patio. A black and white board stared at him with thoroughly constructed and calculated moves. Dorian sat comfortably across from him, a smug look painted on his features.

He familiarized himself with the moves he made last and furrowed his brows. Something wasn’t right…that one piece couldn’t have possibly been there. One more turn and Dorian could have won.

“Funny, that piece wasn’t there a minute ago,” Cullen stated with a smirk.

Dorian maintained his amused stature, “just what are you saying? That my choice in moves have stunned you silent?”

Cheating was hardly beneath Dorian. He’d been taking advantage of Cullen’s random pauses through their games to sneak pieces. Too bad, when he did cheat, it made absolutely no sense. Sometimes he let the mage have the game, if it weren’t as obvious.

And if he truly got sick of the cheating, he wouldn’t play with Dorian. It was a nice distraction from his day to day duties. His dreams kept him up at night regularly, his training was getting harder with every night he didn’t get good sleep. Rylen pulled him aside more than a scarce number of times to inquire how he was doing. Cullen always gave the same mundane answers, that he was fine, just a long night, and continue with what he was doing.

Dorian found Cullen brewing over a battered training dummy. Though Cullen appeared more beat up than the dummy. They hadn’t talked much besides any pleasantries while Cullen cut through the library to get to his office. Dorian came out of the Herald’s Rest that day and noticed the man’s frustrations.

 _Have you ever considered taking a break?_ Dorian had chirped.

 _I do._ Cullen grunted his response as he parried the dummy in its indented chest.

Dorian chuckled. _Breaks don’t involve screeching at recruits regarding what a shield is._

Cullen had scowled.

 _Well, isn’t that scary_. _I’ll be in the garden if you change your mind_. The mage loped off then. It wasn’t until Dorian was well into his second game by himself that Cullen showed up. The man smirked and gestured to the seat.

Cullen didn’t bother to question why he cared. Was he that transparent with his problems? Did his face truly beg for solace outside of his work? Apparently so. Whether or not that was the truth, Dorian never revealed. Dorian appreciated the games, even though he was caught in his depravity several times.

The mage stood his ground this time, so Cullen took the challenged of the purposely placed pawn and took his turn. He could reverse this trickery indeed. “Gloat all you’d like, I have this one.”

Dorian scoffed and played his move, “are you sassing me, commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen shook his head, a pair of footsteps was approaching but he kept his game face, placing his rook. “Why do I even…” he muttered. Then he noticed, there was a smaller, thin figure. Too thin for a scout. Too small for any of his messengers. Gold met violet and his thoughts stumbled over each other. “Inquisitor,” he half got up. She was early. Then his thoughts moved fast; too fast, they swirled over and over. There were reports he still had to read. Requisitions still to fill out. Statuses to check.

“Leaving, are you?” Dorian chimed, “Does this mean I win?” Cullen turned back at his victorious smile.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” she held up her hands. He studied her then, she was still in her riding gear. She must have just arrived. And she came here? She didn’t send a runner. Her features were gentle, but eyes excited. She was happy to be back.

Nevertheless, he sat back in his seat, following her words. “Alright, your move.” Dorian shot her a wink before settling himself into his seat.

“ _Inquisitor_ ” an elven scout approached behind her. _“Vhalla Vhenas_.”

“ _Ma Serranas_ ,” Athenna smiled politely and turned from them. The two proceeded to have a hushed conversation in their native language.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory,” Dorian gained Cullen’s attention once more, “You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen scoffed and finished him off. Checkmate. “Really? Because I just won,” he stretched out his arms, “and I feel fine.” They’d been sitting for a while; his joints birthed a few audible cracks. Dorian remained unphased despite his loss. He doesn’t normally whine when he loses, just lets out a few quirky teases.

“ _La’var ma dea_ ,” Cullen heard Athenna see off the scout and turn to him and Dorian.

“Don’t get smug,” the mage got up from his seat, “there will be no living with you.” He gave Cullen no room or rebuttal, as he already had his focus on their leader. He patted her on the shoulder gently. Something in her kind expression made him pause. The grip on her tensed. “ _Ane ma son_?”

Her brows furrowed but immediately she rolled her eyes and tsked. “ _Ahnsul nadas ga'sa ama av’ahna em mah._ ”

Now he stared back at her blankly. Dorian’s elvish was elementary at best. Cullen turned his head to prevent a laugh. He could feel Athenna’s responding glare. Cullen had no room to judge Dorian however, Dorian knew more elvish than the ex-templar. She exhaled sharply then. “ _Ar'm son._ ”

Dorian didn’t seem convinced of what she said. Whatever he had been thinking, he decided against it and granted her a smile. “We’ll talk soon. I have a few errands to run.” Athenna shook her head as he left.

Cullen saw his opening, “I should return to my duties as well,” then he saw her expression flicker. He couldn’t be sure of what it was. Did she…? “Unless,” he held out his arm to the table, “you would care for a game?”

Her brows shot up. They hadn’t shared a full conversation since that fateful morning weeks before. Things between them were awkward at best and unbearable at worst. This was a chance to atone. But only if Athenna wanted to. He left her an exit, if she wanted one. She hesitated and offered him a shy smile, “Go easy on a rookie.”

Cullen reset the board, “I admit, I’m surprised you’ve played.” 

Athenna let out an amused huff, “Some of the humans we traded with would invite us if the night was too late to travel back. I was taught the basics.” She now sat in Dorian’s spot. She wandered at their desolate garden. Despite Skyhold’s renovations, the simple meadow had been ignored for the most part. Cullen saw it in Athenna’s face, she was already making plans. But then the conversation caught up with him.

“Were those you traded with always that welcoming?” The trades between the Dalish and humans were tense, or so he expected.

“Not always,” She glanced at her lap, “sometimes there wasn’t even exchange of words. They gave us their goods and we ours.”

His curiosity was getting the better of him, “did trades ever end…poorly?”

She peeked at him, the scar on her forehead was barely visible. “You mean, did they ever end violently?” Cullen granted her a nod. “Well,” she sighed, “no one died.”

Athenna snorted when she saw his face. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like. “There were hardly fights. The shems needed our goods as much as theirs. Elven weapons are much more durable. If any scuffle were about to happen, we would back out and I’d flash my blades.” Athenna grinned and her teeth glinted in the sun. He gazed at her, she’d never grinned like that before. It wasn’t forced like the times she spoke with her envoys and even during war councils. It was natural, unfiltered. Beautiful.“But…” she cleared her throat, “those were rare occasions.”

“Well, ah…” he gestured to her, “ladies first.”

Athenna shrunk, considering her first move. The dent between her brows became prominent as she thought. It reminded him of her first war council, when she wasn’t sure which marker to choose. He coughed to hide his snicker. This time she only reached out once and played her move. Cullen already saw an opening but chose not to take it and took his turn.

“Do you play often?” she asked.

“Mostly with Dorian, more now than before,” he watched her take her turn. He skid around her. Going easy on her would call for a longer game not that he minded.

“You like strategies.” She stated, not a question.

“Indeed, a well thought out plan always has plenty of exits.” He observed her hidden smirk. Athenna was not the type to plan out her moves in life. Perhaps its better she be prepared for the unknown. It always seemed to follow her. He decided to change the subject before they could debate, however, “as a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won—which was _all_ the time.” He could see Mia now, _better luck next time_ , she’d sing after every loss.

“My brother and I practiced for weeks. The look on her face when I finally won…” he nearly barked a laugh then. It was priceless. _Better luck next time_ , he’d told her. “Between serving with the templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays…” They were long overdue on their rematch. The thought summoned unwanted guilt.

“You have siblings?” she posed suddenly.

“Two sisters and a brother.”

“You miss them.” Another statement.

“Very much so,” Cullen admitted. Her eyes softened, his guilt reflected in her irises.

“Where are they now?” she finally played her turn, a better move than her first.  

“We are originally from Honnleath. They moved to South Reach after the Blight…I do not write to them as often as I should.” His pawn was blocking her knight. The pile of letters he’d received from South Reach was growing remarkably.

“Your parents?” she questioned absently, watching the board intently.

“They died during the Blight, unfortunately.” Athenna froze, knight still in hand. Had he said something wrong? Her brows furrowed. She only paused for moment before playing her turn, she let him take her knight. She was quiet then. “Do you have family?”

She peered up again and he immediately regretted the question. She seemed like she’d been punched in the gut. She’d _had_ a family. A family she very well might never see again. A family she was sworn to protect. A family who didn’t know whether she was a prisoner or servant. Stupid. How could he ask such a question?

“My clan is my family,” she uttered slowly, “but you’re curious if anyone is blood related in my clan?” He nodded. Athenna twisted a piece between her fingers, “just my Mamae. She’s our clan’s healer. My father joined the Great Beyond when I was very young.” Cullen’s sympathy was on his tongue, but he knew how much he didn’t want it when he mentioned his parent’s fates. Thoughts and Prayers would not bring them back.

She glanced around thoughtfully, played her turn and continued, “ _ma Hallen_ , Nessina. She’s not of my blood but she may as well be,” she beamed now, “my clan found her abandoned on the outskirts of Ostwick when she was no more than a few months old.”

It shocked him to say the least. “That’s generous, the Dalish always seemed exclusive.” He put his knight somewhere.

She raised her brows, “Exclusive?”

 He stuttered, “—Not that its bad to be exclusive! What I’m trying to say—Maker—I never imagined your kind—I mean the Dalish! To easily accept—ah—” he was interrupted by her giggle.

“It was either she became Dalish or whatever ill fate her birth parents intended,” she didn’t seem offended in the least, “all are welcome among the Dalish. Ness was free to leave whenever she chose. After being abandoned, however, would she want to return to her alienage?” she faltered, “To parents who threw her away?” she muttered. Something in her changed, and she darkened. Her mind was somewhere else. She played her turn, but Cullen didn’t bother observing the move.

“I’m sorry, Athenna, I—…” she looked up, eyes wide, cheeks tinting pink again. He’d said her name. He hadn’t called her by her name since the night she almost hurt herself, weeks before. He only ever called her by name when they were alone. Like a secret.

He realized she was waiting for him to continue, “I was ignorant. And I still am. I’m trying to learn.” He wasn’t sure what he was saying he was ignorant of, for it could have been many things. It shamed him. All that mattered when he was a templar were protecting his charges and acknowledging the Chantry as an all-powerful, undeniable state of mind. The longer he stayed away from the templars, and lyrium, the more he began to doubt. The very thought frightened him. It made his dreams worse. But he wanted to know more. His fate could no longer see him through. Still…its possible she could.

“So am I,” she imparted, “Cullen.” She added his name. Maker, he’d never get tired of that sound. “I’ll answer any questions you have on the Dalish…but under one condition.”

He nodded.

She placed her bishop and took one of his knights, “tell me about the templars.” He froze, he’d stopped paying attention, and she was winning. His lips twitched. _Rogues…_ he thought to himself.

“What would you like to know?” he asked and took his turn carefully that time.

* * *

Athenna asked many questions; what templars studied, their conduct, their beliefs (however she spent little time on that subject). She asked about marriage and lifestyle. She asked how he got involved with the templars. He told her of trying to impress the local Knight Captain. When he got to the part of the Knight Captain asking for the Rutherford’s blessings on Cullen’s templar hood, she paused and bit her lip.

“Thirteen?” she admitted airily, “that’s so young.”

“Some are promised to the order at infancy,” he played his turn. They were nearing the end of the game. Cullen had rounded back at her with strategy, when he started focusing on the game again. “Is it so different from Nessina being rescued by the Dalish?” he almost instantly chided himself.

But Athenna remained unaffected, “no, I suppose not.” She took her turn.

Cullen decided best to change the subject, “Do I get to ask some questions now?”

She smirked, “we had a deal, didn’t we?”

A chance to ponder Athenna on all the things he’d been curious about. The more time he’d spend with her the more he wanted to know. The fact that she was giving him free reign made him almost giddy. Though he would never admit it. “What made you decide to become a hunter?” he asked and took the long way to her King. He wanted the game to last now and he would not be caught off guard again.

Athenna contemplated the board but also spoke, “I suppose the simplest reason was because I wanted to be like my father.” He saw how she lit up at the mention of him.

Cullen softened, “Was he also a hunter?”

“Oh no,” she played her turn, “he was our Clan First.”

Cullen’s thoughts stuttered to a halt, “he was a mage?” She nodded and it was as if she unlocked all the things about her that confused him. Her intensity of mage’s freedoms, it all made sense now. Of course, she would side with the mages, all she saw was her father.

She continued, disregarding his dumbfounded appearance, “My papa was an arcane warrior. He carried himself with precision and confidence. He defended the clan whenever trouble struck us. He was brave, kind, and selfless.” Her brows furrowed, and she appeared melancholy. His sympathies were on his tongue, but he bit them off. “I could have been a craftsman, a healer like my Mamae, but it wasn’t who I am.” She moved her king, trying to maneuver around Cullen’s company line he was forming. “I loved to climb at a young age,” she huffed a weak hoot, “papa _hated_ it. But…he let me adventure, explore the forests from great heights, with his supervision” she added.

Cullen made his move towards her king. She peeked at the board and then him, eyes full of sad wonder, “I think part of him knew what I was meant to be, if I couldn’t be Second.”

He leaned his chin into his hand, “did you want to be?”

She hesitated before she moved her queen then and took his bishop that had moved across the board. “I wanted to be Second more than anyone knew,” Athenna whispered, as if to the wind.

Cullen took one of her knights but stayed focused on Athenna. He never thought of Athenna as a mage or even someone who wanted to be a mage. Mage sympathizers came out of the wood work with the war. He had concluded that was all she was. How wrong he had been.

“I learned, perhaps when I was too young, you can’t will something that’s not there,” the words she explained made sense, but the way she spoke them suggested there was a double meaning. But Cullen knew his limits, and now was not the time to speculate what she meant.

She proceeded, “after he passed on, I kept training with our lead hunter, Alhannon. He was relentless with my archery lessons but now because of him, I almost never miss my mark.”

“Do Varric and Sera know that?” he asked of the Inquisition’s resident archer’s, both with impeccable aim.

Athenna grinned, “they do, although they don’t very well believe me considering I never use a bow and arrow on anything besides hunting game.”

“If you’re so skilled in archery, why did you switch to daggers?”

“Archery is elementary for hunters. First you must master a bow and arrow before anything else. We like to keep our enemies from closing distance on the clan. We are free to learn how to use other weapons once Alhannon has confidence our archery skill is high enough. I wanted to expand my skill set. My daggers also helped me in my rite of passage to becoming a full-fledged hunter.”

“Rite of passage?”

“Mhm,” Athenna dipped her head, “for an apprentice to receive their Vallaslin, they must first complete the rite of passage for their chosen occupation. Healers must replicate different solvents and poultices by heart, Craftsmen have to make a successfully durable weapon from ironbark…”

“And hunters?”

“Hunters must present the pelt of an animal they killed on their own.” Athenna moved her pawn somewhere irrelevant, she could see the end coming. _Check._ He had one turn left, therefore one or two more questions.

“What pelt did you bring back?”

Athenna’s lips twitched and her gaze landed on his shoulders. The weight of her scrutiny was heavy, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Mountain lion.” Ah, there it was. The pelt he wore was the same animal as the one she’d hunted.

“That’s…” he shook his head, “how old were you?”

“I was sixteen.”

And him being recruited to the templars was _“so young,”_? He didn’t even fight anyone until he was eighteen. He really looked at the Inquisitor then and thought of all the times he worried about her in the field. It was her duty and he knew that too. She hated being doted on but how could he not? She was so _small_. He’d seen her fight, he knew her capabilities, yet he could never imagine her cutting apart an animal twice, maybe three times the size of her. He _should_ feel impressed. He _should_ be in awe. But that image stuck. It terrified him. But she was not frail, the woman was incredibly durable. Andraste preserve him, a _mountain_ fell on her. “Incredible,” was all he could utter.

Athenna caught the comment and her cheeks flushed. All the attention she was so used to, and that one comment made her blush? He realized then she did not like to be admired. She always pulled back her accomplishments to pull forward her comrades. Now with no one to shield herself with, she was in the open.

Now she glanced at the board and back to him, sheepishly, “I believe it’s time you showed me some mercy, Commander.”

He snorted and took her king finally, “Checkmate.”

She was relieved he didn’t push anymore questions or drag the game—as much as he wanted to. “Luck has favored you today.”

“So, it has,” he couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his lips, “thank you,” he told her earnestly.

The crease in her forehead appeared again, “for what?”

He admitted truthfully, “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition—or other related matters. And to be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

She smiled warmly at him, “Happy to be of service,” and came across like she was going to say something else but bit her lip.

“What is it?” he wondered in a soft tone.

This brought her eyes to his. Her violet irises danced from his gaze when she looked down but kept her smile. He couldn’t read her besides perhaps, she was a bit embarrassed? She glanced back up at him. “We should spend—”

“Inquisitor!” They both jumped at the messenger that came running across the garden. Athenna shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Cullen had to fight the urge to dismiss him right away. The young man approached, and she maintained a regal visage. “Sorry to interrupt, my lady.”

“What is it, James?” she asked.

“Its Seeker Pentaghast, ma’am. It seems as though her and Master Tethras had an argument and it is getting insurmountable.”

“Oh no,” she moaned into her hands, “I’m guessing Hawke didn’t talk her down.”

Cullen chortled unexpectedly and received a glare from the Inquisitor, but he couldn’t help it. “You sent _Hawke_ to talk Cassandra _down_?”

She threw her hands up in the air, “He offered and I--!” she groaned again. She turned to Jim, “I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, ma’am. Commander,” Jim saluted Cullen before taking off.

Cullen held back another chuckle as Athenna stood up and dusted herself off. “Do you need assistance with the matter?”

“I’ve got it,” she grumbled.

But then Cullen remembered her unfinished sentence. “Inquisitor,” he beckoned. She turned towards him, “What did you mean to say before?”

“Oh,” she blushed again. He was starting to feel his own blush match hers at the suspense. “I was going to suggest that…” she cleared her throat, “we spend more time together.” She must have seen his surprised expression, “outside the war room I meant! Talking and beating me at chess, and things like that.” She began backing away.

“I’d like that,” he admitted almost immediately.

“Me too,” she hit her back on one of the pillars of the gazebo. She turned immediately and began walking quickly to the exit.

“You said that,” he pointed out.

She stopped again, “I did? Oh, I did, well, heh,” she hid her face, “I—I have to break up a fight, bye!”

Athenna at a loss for words? It surely was hard for him to grasp at the possibility of a friendship with this woman. The fact she wanted to try after what they had been through, it gave him hope. Hope he could know more about Athenna. If he were honest, he wanted to keep knowing. To understand her so they could prevent where they were before. Cullen held onto Athenna’s King. _I look forward to it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I love that chess scene. I’m so used to the Warden and Hawke being smooth talkers and then you have Quizzy who can be so…not so smooth. It’s one of the things I love about her though and I wanted to amplify that! I also wanted to give some background on where Athenna came from. Inquisition is a long game but I’m sad they don’t give Lavellan’s origin a lot of spotlight except for a few mentions. So, I used this as an opportunity to introduce my own cannons about her background! 
> 
> I also took the time to introduce Nessina, Ladara, and the Keeper into the story. In case you haven’t noticed, I did pull a gender bender on the Keeper. I know she’s a woman in the game, but I always saw her as a man, so I switched up her name and gender. I think overall it fits the story a lot better! Hope you all don’t mind 😊
> 
> Below I have left translations for that one scene with Athenna, Dorian, and the messenger because as we all know, Cullen doesn’t know elvish! See what I did there? 
> 
> Also, below I left links to my character inspirations for each character as well as screenshots for my Athenna.  
> Hope you all enjoyed, and feedback is always welcome! Thanks for the support!
> 
> Translations:  
> Ma Halla- A dear friend  
> Vhalla Vhenas¬- Welcome Home  
> Ma Serannas- Thank you  
> La’var ma dea- As you were  
> Ane ma son- Are you well?  
> Ahnsul nadas ga'sa ama av’ahna em mah- Why must everyone ask me that?  
> Ar’m son- I’m well  
> Ma Hallen- My Halla Child
> 
> Character Inspirations/Aesthetics
> 
> Nessina:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/481814860106075494/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/446700856765131719/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/574209021218755518/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/27514247700446103/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/443463894550787729/
> 
> Carvin:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/366339750934689930/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/572520171356646993/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/151503974952785880/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/437975132493894690/
> 
> Ladara;  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/275423333435849437/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/415668240599544609/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/540924605234912106/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/362610207492905904/
> 
> Deshan:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/362610207492905904/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/586593920184608566/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700802391993830589/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/437975132493894720/
> 
> Athenna:  
> https://photos.app.goo.gl/7U7gTJd1jS84WCbZ8


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